


The Offering

by BabysNotaProp (SuzetteB)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Religious, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Bloodplay, Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Consensual Non-Consent, Destiel NaNoWriMo Facebook Group, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Edgeplay, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobic Language, Incubus Castiel, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Light Bondage, Lisa is the underage part, M/M, Minor Character Death, NaNoWriMo, Oral Sex, Orgy, Panties-Wearing Dean Winchester, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Cults, Religious Fanaticism, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Soul Bond, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester, Trans Female Character, conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-08-08 19:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 167,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzetteB/pseuds/BabysNotaProp
Summary: As a pastor's son, Dean Winchester is expected to be all the things he's not: the church poster child, compliant with every plan his father has for him, and of course, straight.Fighting the confines of his father's faith and the control it has over his life, Dean is caught in the middle of a teen lock-in activity that will change his life. The boys accidentally summon an incubus named Cas, and his demands are clear.Dean discovers Cas to be everything he expected... Yet, even the darkest of creatures has secrets of his own. Can they be together, despite who they are, and despite everything designed to keep them apart?





	1. The Offering

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a one shot.
> 
> Originally, The Offering was an 800 word PWP done for Promptober 2018. During NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) of the same year, it developed into 50k, but the end was nowhere in sight. Now January 2019, it has grown to over twice that size and I feel like I've made a horcrux. I exhausted myself, I cried, I killed at least one person (in the story, relax), and I left a piece of my soul in there somewhere.
> 
> Please read the tags and archive warnings. This one's a doozy. There are some *not nice* things in here. Rape/non-con, underage (Lisa), questionable morality, Homophobia Like Woah, minor character death (don't worry... you WILL want him gone), and a controlling religious environment. You have been warned.
> 
> On the bright side, there's more smut than is reasonably justifiable, plus a heavy plot. This work is COMPLETE, and will be updated every Saturday and Wednesday until every chapter is posted. Click subscribe so you don't miss a single chapter!
> 
> Pairing note: Destiel is the main attraction, but you will see both M/M and F/M relationships. At one point, Dean is with a girl, and and Cas is involved with women multiple times, but fear not, my children... it'll make sense when you get there. 
> 
> Thank you to  CastielsCarma  for betaing this work and helping me out with the summary. You have been amazing. You have been a source of encouragement and excellent advice along the way, and I can't thank you enough.

“Okay guys, I know I said let’s do stuff that would make my dad burn the place down, but this? Really?”

 

To say Dean Winchester was a rebel would be an understatement. Never one to blindly follow his father’s teachings, he spent his days talking the talk and his nights doing things like… well, this. He got a thrill out of it. If it was in diametrical opposition to Pastor John Winchester, you tell him the time and the place, and he’d be there.

 

Although, summoning dark entities through a Ouija board seemed a bit excessive.

 

He had always questioned the things Bible thumpers liked to scream from the pulpits. He made a checklist out of the sins of the flesh, and checked it twice. He liked to think he was pretty good at hiding it, too. Every once in a while he’d get busted for being a _bad example_ , but the big stuff was still under wraps.

 

His father never saw Dean roll his eyes behind his back, and he certainly didn’t know about the Ouija board the teen boys were playing at the lock-in activity. Truth be told, Dean even didn’t know about the board until they pulled it out of who-the-hell-knows-where, and he was usually the ringmaster of the naughty circus.

 

Of course, the boys and girls slept in separate sections of the church; else _it just wouldn’t be appropriate_. The teen girls and their chaperones were making their own ruckus in one of the Sunday School rooms upstairs, away from the out of control, lustful eyes of the teen boys, who were locked away in the church sanctuary.

 

Dean’s father also didn’t know that he had sucked at least half the dicks in the room, so the joke was on on his religious ass for thinking keeping him away from girls his age made him any more pure.

 

“C’mon, Dean,” his little brother laughed, laying a hand on the planchette.

 

Why, oh why did Dean have to still be in the teen group while his brother came of age? It wasn’t that Sam was a narc -- heaven knows, the kid had secrets of his own -- but with him in ninth grade and Dean in twelfth, now he had two asses to watch.

 

“Ain’t no way. Y’all go ahead and summon some crazy-ass demon.”

 

After quite a bit of egging on, Adam Milligan sat across from Sam and they waited for the room to quiet down before beginning the game. Who the hell brought the damn thing was anyone’s guess, and getting caught playing it in the _house of God_ of all places would spell out a world of trouble, especially for Dean as the _spiritual leader_ . Luckily, most of the male chaperones had bailed at the last minute, and Brother Shurley was sleeping like the dead in the corner, so the boys’ worries of getting caught were minimal.

Adam sat across from Sam, hands on the planchette, and asked the board if anyone was there. The planchette moved under their lax fingers. It stopped at Yes, and you could hear a pin drop above the utter silence that befell the room.

 

“Quit doing that!” Sam yelled.

 

“I didn’t do it, you did it,” Adam rebutted.

 

“I swear, I didn’t.”

 

“Okay,” Adam turned his attention back to the board. “Spirit, what is your name?”

 

The planchette slid into the alphabet, over C. Then A. And lastly, S.

 

“Huh?” Sam said.

 

“Cas,” Dean clarified, watching the board intently but keeping his distance with the rest of the boys. “It’s name is Cas.”

 

“What do you want, Cas?” Adam asked.

 

The board was inactive for a second. Then suggestively slow, the planchette moved over the letters S, E, and X.

 

Laughter erupted from the passive onlookers.

 

“Now I know you’re messing with it,” Adam teased.

 

Sam turned red but shook his head. “Dude, I am not! Ask it something else.”

 

“What are you?”

 

Right from under their fingers, the planchette flew off and shattered against the wall, splintering the wood in a thousand pieces and frightening the boys. Sam and Adam abandoned the board and cowered into the crowd, who moved away tightly like a school of fish. One of the shadows in the corner of the sanctuary shifted into a humanoid shape and drifted downward. It thickened until it became opaque, and landed on the floor with a thud.

 

The boys gasped and took a step back when blue eyes glowed from the shadow figure. The mass became more and more dense until a horned creature walked into the light with iridescent black scales edging his face and raven colored wings extending in a boastful display. His eyes never stopped glowing blue and his dark smile revealed two short, glossy fangs amid a row of regular teeth. Scales covered his groin area, except an opening from which his pink, enlarging dick was slowly growing.

 

Dean looked him over with a curious smirk. He was beautiful.

 

“You Cas?” he inquired.

 

The dark being nodded. His voice was like gravel and honey. “I am an incubus. You summoned me.”

 

Holy crap, that was probably supposed to be scary, but Dean could feel his dick twitch already.

 

“Okay first of all, woah man,” another senior, Jake Talley, said while offering up placating palms. “My friends were just messing around on the board. Nobody summoned you specifically. Second of all, you’re freaking everybody out. Please leave.”

 

“I require an offering,” Cas deadpanned. He scanned the room, each potential plaything dropping eye contact or hiding behind another, except one. His piercing green eyes locked with Cas’ and he didn’t step back when Cas took a step towards him. Yes, this one. He would be sufficient.

 

“What about you?” the incubus slithered, his fangs extending at the smell of the young man’s increasing oxytocin.

 

Dean raised a brow, now alone. His group mates had scattered once they saw the incubus had made his choice. “What about me?”

 

“Do you consent to be taken as an offering?” The human was a bold one, to speak to an incubus like that. His kind were feared for a reason, and Cas was happy to be the one to teach him why.

 

Dean wasn’t even subtle about his eyes dropping to Cas’ erection arching out of its scaled sheath. He tread closer, and if Dean was being honest, he had no qualms with getting freaky with that incubus. He thought about how experienced Cas must be. Boys Dean’s age had no idea what to do with him, but this creature? He had heard about sex demons. Cas could show him a thing or two.

 

“Deal,” he answered simply.

 

With a feral snarl, the horned beast snapped his fingers. Dean found himself and Cas in an elaborate hotel room, complete with a hot tub and king sized bed. Although Dean recognized the space, he had no time to react before the sex demon was clawing at him with freshly expanded claws. Where had he seen that heart shaped tub before?

 

He pushed it out of his mind and focused instead on the creature with him. This gorgeous thing -- this Cas -- had eyes he couldn’t look away from and _crap, why did he smell so good?_ Dean shamelessly palmed at the erection in his pants, head swimming with a singular thought: how fucking horny he was right now.

 

Dean leaned into Cas’ touch like he was starved for it. Wrapping his clawed fingers around him, Cas licked across Dean’s bottom lip with a pointed tongue. Dean licked his lip to chase the taste and holy mother of fuck, what was that? Realizing more of the same laid just beyond Cas’ lips, Dean plunged his tongue into Cas’ mouth.

 

Cas’ scaled groin area scratched at Dean’s perfectly pressed dress pants and the beautiful cock unsheathing from his scales rubbed against Dean’s hip. The sensation was intoxicating, and Dean grinded against him greedily. His mind grew dizzy as his desire built like a wind-up toy, tighter and tighter until his dick ached with the need for release.

 

Gasping as the demon laid him across the hotel bed, he watched in wonder as Cas unzipped his pants and slipped his underwear down faster than even Benny could. Dean felt like he should be screaming, either from fear or the knowledge that there was an actual demon laying him. This should be a horrifying, trauma-inducing nightmare. He shouldn’t be getting off on this and storing away the memory for a lonely night down the road. Yet, he couldn’t get enough.

 

He felt a hand brush against his cock and suddenly the rest of the world faded away. The only thing he could feel was the mattress beneath and Cas above. Every intuition that screamed _run, run, run_ melted away into a baser instinct that repeated _more, more, more._ More hands, more of those glowing eyes, and definitely more of that sinful mouth.

 

Cas wrapped his lips around Dean’s length, spurring a surge of lust rocketing through his veins. He was on Dean like a leech, fangs digging, lips sucking, tongue swirling. Dean was sure he was screaming -- he must have been. If he was, they were alone in the weird deja vu place, so he gave no heed to their volume.

 

Every squeeze of the incubus’ fingers around his thighs, every oral movement, was a ride taking him higher and higher. Dean’s skin prickled under each touch, like a trail of fire consuming his bones. Cas’ unholy mouth was hotter than anything Dean had ever felt. It was probably on account of having sex with a demon who gave orgasms as a speciality, and Dean gave exactly zero fucks.

 

He shouted when he came in Cas’ mouth, his orgasm both a relief and an embarrassment at how quickly he had gotten there. His load shot thick and filthy down the incubus’ throat, his muscles contracting against Dean’s cock, milking it for all he could give. It was earth-shattering but much, much too quick, and when Cas released him from his mouth, Dean whined at the loss.

 

He felt fingers at his groin, tucking his softening dick back in his pants and zipping him back up, but he was too preoccupied with catching his breath for it to sink in. There he lie, spent and worn out across the bed, useless for anything besides catching up with the reality of what just happened to him. Glowing blue eyes caught his attention enough for the incubus’ parting words to register.

 

“You have fulfilled your duty as my offering,” Cas said while hovering over him.

 

Dean blinked, trying to clear the dark, cloudy image of Cas above him. He sat up to reply, but did a double take when he found himself back in the church auditorium. Looking around, the lock-in was carrying on as usual. The piano and organ, altar, platform, and pulpit were all there. The guys were huddled to the side, unaware of his return. His pants were zipped. Cas was gone.

 

“Cas?” Dean called. It got the attention of the rest of the teen boys, who whispered among themselves as they hurried to his side. Sam looked like shit, worry all over his face and that stupid Ouija board packed up under his arm. He dropped it into a pew before shoving the other guys out of the way to get to his big brother.

 

“Dean,” Sam said. “Where the hell did he take you?”

 

“This weird hotel thing, with… a heart-shaped hot tub?”

 

Sam squinted. “Like, the one on the commercial?”

 

Dean’s eyes widened. _That’s_ where he had seen that place. He had fantasized about doing the dirty with fellow senior Pam Barnes in that very hotel room, from that very tv commercial. Cas had just zapped them into Dean’s frick-frack fantasy to do a ritualistic blowjob. Lovely.

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

 

“So did you…? You know,” Adam piped up.

 

Dean gave a small nod and pulled himself to his feet using one of the pews. His knees still felt a little bit like Jello, but he wasn’t about to let that show in front of his worry wart of a brother. He kept his eyes on the ground as he faced away from the crowd, wanting nothing to do with their prying questions.

 

“Yeah, I did.”

 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

 

Dean thought about it. What a wild night. He knew he was probably nothing to that demon -- that he was just another notch in Cas’ bedpost. But there was something about him. It was probably just the idea of getting laid by a creature of such famed malevolence. It was probably just his charisma and pointpoint sexual precision. Feeling drawn to him was just Dean being horny and curious.

 

Right?

 

“Yeah Sammy, I’m fine,” he assured him with a persuasive smile.

 

Brother Shurley stirred a little throughout the night, but nothing that interrupted the teenage boys’ ongoing shenanigans. Dean sat separate from them, eyes far away, mind absent. No one noticed that he stayed silent and detached for the rest of the lock-in. No one noticed when he slipped out of the sanctuary.

 

No one noticed when he left with the Ouija board under his arm and a singular thought coursing through his mind: He had to contact Cas again.


	2. Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean successfully summons back the same incubus as last time, but what did he really sign up for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I make up for it later, I swear.

Dean gasped at the tongue fucking his hole. His quest to summon the incubus had proven successful, after a little bit of help from the internet. After deciding against the Ouija board, he scoured the first ten pages of a Google search until he found an obscure witchcraft blog that described in painstaking detail how to re-summon a sex demon.

 

And now his thighs were on either side of Cas’ head as the intoxicating creature below him ate him out in the church basement. He lowered himself, forcing Cas’ tongue deeper into his ass. Cas gripped his legs tighter and thrusted in and out, and the loss of control made Dean whimper like the poor, desperate fool he was.

 

He didn’t give much thought to the blog besides the singular purpose for which he was searching. Somewhere in the blog post there was fine print about the dangers of incubus venom, warnings against pheromones, blah, blah, blah. He kind of… skipped most of that.

 

He needed to see Cas again, as soon as possible. Dean brushed off the fine print, excusing his and Cas’ encounter as _educational_ . He was learning new tricks. Boys his age had never touched him like this. He fell forward against the basement wall and stifled a scream as Cas started adding _fingers_ to the mix and sucked on one of his balls.

 

Another thing he had learned about sex with an incubus: refractory periods were not a thing. Something about their makeup replenished human performance as fast as the incubus could dish it out, so Dean had enjoyed not one, but _five_ orgasms with no signs of stopping. The action started at 10pm and it was 3am. It was a school night and Dean couldn’t even count the ways he did not care.

 

“Ugh, Cas,” he grunted as Cas’ fingers fucked him and mouth ran over the entirety of the goods between his legs. Cas had popped his other ball out of his mouth gently, licking down to his perineum before taking his length in his mouth. Dean ran his fingers through Cas’ hair but tilted his head up.

 

“Wait,” Dean’s voice cracked as he looked down at shining blue eyes and a delicious pair of lips around his cock. “I wanna suck you off, too.”

 

Cas blinked wide and slid off of Dean, removing his fingers but staying low. His face was unreadable, which concerned Dean. What was going on in that pretty little mind?

 

“We can’t,” Cas declined. His voice carried a tone that saddened Dean but also sparked curiosity. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Cas looked unhappy about saying no.

 

“Why not?”

 

Cas raised himself to Dean’s level. “There are certain rules I must live by as the creature that I am. Rules that must never be broken.”

 

“Or else, what?”

 

Cas peered at Dean hauntingly. Dean swallowed but did not break eye contact. Was he supposed to be ashamed of questioning the laws of the spiritual universe? Whatever Cas was trying, it wasn’t working.

 

“All I wanna do is return the favor, man. It’s not an engagement ring.”

 

“You cannot do that,” Cas warned thickly. Dean’s dick twitched at the sound of that voice dripping like the thick ropes of come that had coated Cas’ throat more than once tonight. “Once I accept favors in return, I am bound to that human.”

 

Dean nodded, and then looked off as his heart sank. Cas didn’t want to get attached. Of course he didn’t; to him, this was just a job. And to Dean, it was just sex. This -- whatever “this” might be -- was just for fun. No strings, no commitments. But fuck, why was that so upsetting?

 

“Wait. So,” another thought interrupted Dean. “If you get bound to a human by getting dicked down, what does that make me, after all these times getting dicked down by you?”

 

Cas glared at Dean under twitching eyelashes, his countenance suddenly turning ominous and vaguely threatening.

 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “Cas?”

 

Instead of answering, the demon lunged forward and sank his fangs into Dean’s neck. Feeling the warmth spreading through him, his heartbeat fell back into a relaxed pace and he slumped into Cas’ waiting arms. He tried to move his limbs as Cas lowered him onto the carpeted floor, but his venom had made him pliant enough to respond indifferently when he found himself paralyzed.

 

“Never mind those tedious details, frail human.”

 

Dean. His name was Dean. He pressed his tongue against his teeth to say it, but grew dizzy when he attempted to sputter it out.

 

“You summoned me and now you have me. You want me to keep fucking you, yes? That is why you requested my presence?”

 

Blinking away black spots, Dean hummed behind closed lips and laid still to fully experience the tingling in his extremities from the venom. It wasn’t numbing; he could feel every touch on his skin -- more so, actually. Every movement was intensified; every sense heightened. It simply dulled his brain’s reaction to reflexes and motor skills. He was putty in Cas’ hands.

 

Unable to move, Dean checked through the facts while lying on his back. He wanted this. Even if there were consequences, Cas was the only thing that could scratch his itch. But Cas was being pretty damn cryptic by shutting him up and spreading him out. In fact, Dean thought the venom thing was a bit unwarranted. Why so secretive? More importantly, what had Dean agreed to when he consented to be the offering?

 

“C-Cas,” he struggled to enunciate.

 

Cas paused from aligning his cock with Dean’s hole. “What is it, human?”

 

“D-Dean.”

 

Cas furrowed his brows.

 

“Name’s… Dean.”

 

The incubus’ face relaxed and he returned to the task at hand, keening darkly as he lowered himself into Dean’s puckered, waiting ass. “Oh, foolish little human. You ought not give your name to the demon you summon to have intercourse with you.”

 

The venom was subsiding now, enough for Dean to form complete sentences and thrash his hands flaccidly around Cas’ neck. “Well, looks like I’m royally fucked already, am I right? What’s a little more trouble?” He wiggled his brows to the blankly staring creature inches from his face.

 

“I mean,” Dean continued with a shrug. “What else is a preacher’s kid to do with his time? Once my dad finds out I’m into dick, I’m getting shipped off to Jesus camp for sure.” He groaned as Cas began moving within him. “Why not go all-out? Why not sell my soul for mind-blowing incubus sex and possibly damn myself forever? I’m damned already, far as my old man’s concerned.”

 

Not faltering from his thrusts, Cas hissed, “You have a man of God in your bloodline?”

 

“Sure — my dad, his dad. If you’re not picky about denominations, you can count the generation before that too.”

 

Cas held onto Dean tighter as he fucked him, mouth twisting into a sinister smile as his fangs peeked out. “Excellent,” he muttered.

 

Dean got a little bit more rugburn with every thrust, and his mind temporarily blanked as Cas’ cock brushed his prostate. Whatever he had gotten himself into, it was bad. What was sex with a demon doing to him, and what did his bloodline have to do with it?

 

Dean decided to think about it later. Right now, his mind was consumed with the incubus pounding his ass and the sensations pulsing through his body. As his strength continued to return, he clung onto Cas and closed his eyes, shutting out the world around him and focusing on the feeling of being filled over and over by the most experienced being possibly ever. He imagined topping Cas — all the sounds he’d make, how incredible it would feel to be inside him — and Dean came untouched, spurting all over his lower stomach.

 

He was so fucked.


	3. Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rough day under the scrutiny of his teachers, Dean takes out his frustrations on another encounter with Cas. Tension rises with the possibility of getting caught outside with Lisa, but priorities change when an unwelcome guest makes an appearance at chapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: In this chapter, a female performs a sexual act on Dean. This is the only chapter where this happens, so I didn't feel the need to add it to the relationship tag.

Music theory was boring as always, and Dean started to wonder how on earth Ms. Rosen managed to sneak a Bible reference into every lesson. Was it a curriculum requirement? The key signature was wrong on the modulation problem _that she wrote down_. Where did this lady even get a degree? Did she have a degree? Or was being close to God the number one prerequisite of getting hired at the church’s private school?

 

The thin flap of pages awoke Dean from his trance.

 

“Sing for joy to God our strength; Shout joyfully to the God of Jacob,” the teacher read nasally from the Psalms. “Raise a song, strike the timbrel, the sweet sounding lyre with the harp.”

 

_Here comes the part where she tries to correlate it to today’s lesson_. Dean rolled his eyes in preparation.

 

“Mr. Winchester.”

 

“Yes, Ms. Rosen?” he mumbled. His other five classmates shot death glares at him for his choice of tone.

 

“I’m sure I did not just see you roll your eyes at me, young man.” Her voice fought to sound authoritative, but it was all Dean could do to keep from cracking a smile. His brow lifted instead.

 

“No ma’am, there’s just something in my eye.” He looked up and rubbed the skin under his lashes.

 

Ms. Rosen scowled. “Mr. Winchester, you don’t want to be sent to the principal’s office today, do you?”

 

_My dad’s office, you mean?_   “No, ma’am.”

 

“Alright then,” she punctuated, once again looking down at her spread of notes.

 

Dean zoned out again so he could endure the last few minutes of class. Maybe he could steal away during lunch and summon Cas again, for a quickie. His mind wandered to those iridescent black scales, the muscles beneath squeezing the demon’s pink, leaking dick into the open. He wasn’t sure how all of it worked, but it reminded Dean of the way a snake moved, so firm and fluid. One thing was for sure, it worked. Dean cursed under his breath as he felt the familiar pressure of a hard-on tenting in his pants.

 

“Mr. Winchester,” came the shrill voice again.

 

He broke into a cold sweat from his back row desk. She could probably see everything. Crap, he had gotten caught with a boner in class. Careful not to move, he glanced up to see Ms. Rosen’s wide eyes staring directly into his, her lips smashed in an impatient fine line.

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“I said, what key did I change this to?”

 

Dean instantly relaxed. He scanned the whiteboard. “Uh, F minor.”

 

“Very good. Everyone remember your homework. Read chapter 4 of Music God’s Way and be ready for a pop quiz.”

 

_Awesome, no homework._

 

“Class dismissed!”

 

Dean let out a long-needed exhale as he gathered his things, the troublemaker between his legs gradually calming down. The rest of the class was long gone by the time his bag was packed, but he didn’t even make it past the front row before the teacher stopped him.

 

“Mr. Winchester, a word.”

 

He fumbled with the backpack strap across his shoulder awkwardly. “Yeah?”

 

Ms. Rosen sighed sharply and intertwined her fingers across her desk. “It is very important that you are an example to the other young people in class, Dean. The others look up to you as a role model.”

 

Dean almost laughed. A role model for what? How to repress your gag reflex?

 

“I know you might not feel like it, but I’m serious. You set the spiritual tone for this entire school. You have so much resting on your shoulders, and as Pastor Winchester once said, ‘the young people are the true pillars of our church.’ I hope you take that seriously.”

 

“Of course,” Dean said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Okay, thank you for your time, Dean.”

 

Careful to pivot not too quickly, Dean clenched his jaw and nodded shortly to signal his departure. He made a beeline for the nursery basement, where the small school held lunch hour. Lucky enough to have missed the blessing, he snatched up a semi-warm slice of pizza the school had bought and plopped into a fold-up chair.

 

“Aren’t you going to say grace?” a voice taunted from beside him.

 

“Lisa.” The name ran like velvet off his tongue. “Decide to show up for school today?”

 

She shrugged as she picked at a pepperoni slice. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

 

Dean scoffed behind a mouthful of pizza. “Business that bad, is it?”

 

“C’mon,” she suggested with a head tilt toward the door. “I wanna give you something.”

 

Foregoing the crust, Dean followed Lisa up the stairs and behind the nursery. It sat on the edge of the church grounds, parallel to the road and the first building one saw rolling into the parking lot. Not a soul could be seen from where they stood. Unless a car drove by on that old country road, no one could see them either.

 

“What’s going on?” Dean asked with a nervous laugh. “Seriously, you bring me out to murder me or what?”

 

Lisa stood close and unbuckled his belt, biting her lip as she met his eyes. Within seconds, his cock was in the cool autumn air, and he stepped back instinctively in an effort to preserve its size against the shrinking cold. His back hit the brick exterior of the nursery and his eyes shot wide open as Lisa sank to her knees.

 

“Wait, Lisa you don’t have to,” he blurted. Hearing himself, he blinked in disbelief. Where the hell did that come from? He loved her blowies.

 

“You don’t want it?” she cooed teasingly. His dick was growing in her warm hands, her breath making his tip tingle.

 

“I do, it’s just,” he began but coughed away any further words as her hot, wet mouth enveloped him. He jutted his hips forward, fucking her face while his hands gripped onto the rough, porous brick. And then he felt guilty. What about Cas? He was so much better at this than her. He let out a hesitant sigh, which she misinterpreted as pleasure, and kept sucking ardently.

 

He closed his eyes and remembered Cas’ thick horns and shiny scales. He saw glowing blue eyes that bore right into his very soul when Dean came and fangs that carried terrifying venom. Dean ran his fingers through Lisa’s hair and moaned, pretending it was Cas’ dark locks he was touching, and Cas’ throat he was fucking. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to get him there. He thrust harshly into her mouth, causing her to choke around his dick, but he held her head in place as he shot thick ropes of come down her throat.

 

Regret immediately took hold. He shouldn’t have been so rough with her. And what about Cas?

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, taking his hands off of her.

 

Lisa removed him from her mouth, mascara streaming down her face and come dripping out of the corner of her mouth. She spat onto the ground, and Dean’s stomach fell. She hated swallowing. How did he forget that? If he hadn’t been fantasizing about Cas the whole time, he might’ve remembered.

 

She laughed it off. “It’s okay. I’m going back to lunch to see if there’s any more pizza left.”

 

Dean made a point to go in the opposite direction. “Okay, sounds good. I’m gonna go, uh… I’m gonna --”

 

“Don’t forget to zip your pants,” she said with a wink. She wiped her face and swayed off to the basement again.

 

Standing there, cock half out, Dean kicked a rock into the ditch and turned towards the building before a car zoomed by. He got himself situated and decided to waste some time in the gym before his next class. Besides, it was nice outside, and the fresh air would help clear his mind.

 

He threw the basketball around, not quite caring whether it made it in the hoop or not. He bounced it off the backboard, rolled it across the bleachers, and smashed it as hard as he could onto the floor, sending it careening through the air and narrowly missing a teacher that had wandered in on the way to her office.

 

“Hey, watch it,” Miss Masters whined. She had a plate of pizza in one hand and her Tervis in the other, and it looked like she wasn’t putting up with his shit today.

 

“Sorry, Meg.” Dean grabbed another ball from the rack and spun it on his index finger.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at lunch?”

 

She always did ignore the first name thing. At least, until other students were within earshot. “Aren’t you?”

 

“I’m a teacher, doofus.”

 

“Well apparently, I’m the school poster child.”

 

It was Meg’s turn to raise her brow. “Who told you a piece of nonsense like that?”

 

He knew she was just playing, but oh, if she only really knew everything he was hiding. “Ms. Rosen.”

 

“Eek,” she clicked through gritted teeth. She resumed her long walk across the basketball court. “That’s kind of a lot to put on a high school kid.”

 

“I’m a senior. We’re supposed to have the weight of the world on our shoulders.”

 

“Yeah, but not like that,” she countered, her face scrunching up sickly. “I’d leave the example-leading and perfect living to like, the crotchety old guys who keep reminiscing about the golden days of evangelism. Or ushers, at the lowest.”

 

Dean smiled for real this time. “See ya around, Meg.”

 

A crowd of fifth graders poured into the gym smelling like pizza and hurrying directly to the classroom across the court. “It’s Miss Masters,” she corrected emphatically in the presence of the young, impressionable minds. Dean shook his head and gripped his backpack tighter as he kicked the basketball against the bleachers and made his way to math class.

 

By the time school was out for the day, he had so many differing thoughts spinning through his head, he couldn’t think clearly. He spent the drive home zoned out and wondered how on earth he hadn’t died. Driving on autopilot was dangerous, apparently, if his driver’s ed manual from years ago had anything to say about it. Blowing it off as a damn miracle, he collapsed onto his twin bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

 

He dreamed of the soft touch of lips on his skin, coupled with a strong grip around his body. He never got a glimpse of the person holding him so perfectly -- some dreams were funny like that -- but it was stronger than any girl he’d known. This presence seemed capable, all-encompassing, and soothing. It lulled him into a deep sleep and kept him there until dinner time.

 

* * *

 

“How was school today, honey?”

 

Dean hurried to finish his bite of roast chicken. “Nothing exciting happened.”

 

Mary Winchester asked the same question every night at dinner. Somehow she always made it sound fresh and sweet, so every day, Dean tried to come up with a new way of saying “fine.” She meant well, he knew that; but how exciting could private school get? What did she think was going to happen, the Rapture? They weren’t even allowed to have prom or homecoming since his dad deemed dancing to be so sinful.

 

“Tell her about how the group project is coming along,” his father encouraged with a wave of his fork.

 

Dean’s head cocked to the side. “The group…?”

 

“You and Lisa used part of your lunch break to discuss it, right son?”

 

Dean’s palms turned suddenly clammy. “Uh…”

 

“Brother Shurley happened to see you two leave for a few minutes to work on it. At least, that’s what he told me.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replied coolly as he concentrated very hard on cutting his next piece. “That group project. It’s… a big project. It’s nice to have the help.” He looked up with a convincing smile while screaming on the inside.

 

“Everything okay in Music Theory?”

 

“Dad,” Dean sighed. “It’s fine. Ms. Rosen is just… a little squirrely.”

 

“She said you were disrespectful.”

 

“She’s overre-- hey, wait. She talked about me?” Dean couldn’t help his displeased brows. He set his fork down. “With you?”

 

John’s tone sounded patronizing. “Son, it’s possible that some of it is Ms. Rosen overreacting. But you still need to be respectful in class. You’re very expressive and sometimes you come across the wrong way.”

 

Dean could feel his neck starting to burn. He picked at his shirt collar, still buttoned from when he passed out on the bed and felt the warmth of rage rise on his face. “I don’t mean to,” he decided to say in an effort to de-escalate the situation. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but he also wasn’t in the mood to get popped in the mouth.

 

Satisfied with Dean’s compliance, John nodded and took another spoonful of mashed potatoes. Dean looked across at his mom’s plate. She was finally getting around to eating after getting him, Sam, and his dad settled in. Dean finished the rest of his meal in silence while his parents conversed about hospital visits and door-to-door visitation. How boring adult talk was. He was technically an adult, but he prayed he would never become _that_ boring.

 

Relieved when his parents started gathering their plates and silverware to be washed, Dean shot up and all but dropped his dirty dishes into the sink before rushing upstairs two steps at a time. He felt guilty for not offering to help his mother clean up but pushed it away to make room for thoughts of Cas visiting him. He threw together the ingredients for the summoning spell, lit his mom’s rose candle, and recited a few lines of Latin.

 

It was the first time summoning Cas in his own house, so he darted his eyes around the corners, not sure which shadow the demon would emerge from this time. He jumped back with a start when he turned around to see Cas eye to eye with him, no warning.

 

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean gasped in fright. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

 

Not wasting time with pleasantries, Cas scanned the room with his glowing blue eyes while folding his wings to a more comfortable size given the small bedroom. “Is this your father’s house?”

 

Dean winced at the term. He lived there, too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that?”

 

Fang tips peeped out from under Cas’ malicious smile. “You’ll need to be quiet.”

 

“Why can’t we just hop on over to Fantasy Land? Like we did the first two times at church?”

 

The incubus said nothing, instead, overpowering Dean, claws digging into his waist on the way to the bed. Dean started to grunt in discomfort but Cas clasped his hand over his mouth. Sounds now muffled, Dean’s heart began racing as Cas hovered over him and gave his body a long whiff.

 

“You’ve engaged in sexual activity already today,” he observed. When Dean muffled incoherently behind his hand, Cas removed it and began undressing the human.

 

“Hey man,” Dean quivered defensively. “I swear, I didn’t see it coming. She just randomly wanted to give me a blowjob, and she’s usually really good, but ever since I met you, she seems like such an amat--”

 

“I don’t care, silly human. I smelled your semen on your undergarments.”

 

“Wow, okay. We’re using hospital terms now.”

 

“I was trying to make conversation.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so he digressed. Cas had his bottom half naked scary fast, and Dean helped him out with the many buttons on his shirt. From his back, he arched his head up to watch Cas’ dick growing out of its scaled sheath. It was strange and alien and beautiful.

 

“Can I touch it?” Dean asked, his fingers lifting from his side in hopes for an affirmative.

 

Cas’ eyes narrowed for a split second. “No. That would be me accepting a service in return.”

 

A loophole sprouted in Dean’s mind. “Not exactly. If it’s what I want, then you’re still doing it for me. I’m only servicing you if you wanted it first. Right?”

 

The demon sighed loudly and flipped Dean onto his stomach. “Correct,” he growled as he pulled Dean’s ass into the air and grasped onto his hips. Dean didn’t have time to ponder the implications of this before he was penetrated full and quick by Cas’ smooth cock. He moaned quietly as Cas fucked him, enamored by the sensation of not needing prep before their act. Must’ve been something else about sex demons that made them awesome.

 

Nails dug into his skin as Cas moved behind him, and it was all Dean could do to keep from shouting when Cas adjusted the angle and grazed his prostate. His bundle of nerves ignited with every pass, his body thrumming with warm pleasure the incubus deftly supplied. If he closed his eyes, he felt like he was flying, higher and higher, soaring into new heights of bliss.

 

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, shoving a handful of pillow into his mouth to talk through. “Fuck, fuck… fuck.”

 

“You are a vocal one,” Cas muttered.

 

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled.

 

“No need to apologize.”

 

That’s right, the friendly neighborhood incubus was just trying to make conversation. What was up with that, anyway? He didn’t care about conversation before. Was he fishing for a tip or something? Still not entirely sure of the cost of calling on a demon to fuck him, Dean ignored the red flags flaring up and lost himself in the moment.

 

Cas didn’t care that Dean had sex outside of their meetings; for all Dean knew, Cas was getting it on with lots of other humans. They weren’t exclusive, and Dean could respect that. Why would they be? Sticking his dick in various people was in the incubus job description.

 

Dean came rutting against his bed sheets with a long groan. It wasn’t often he came that way, but Cas was damn talented, which only added to the level of hotness. His head buzzed as he caught his breath, congratulating himself for staying quiet enough to not call attention to themselves. He could imagine his dad’s face now. Priceless.

 

As he came down from the high, he regretted the thought of Cas leaving so soon. He was mysterious and interesting, and Dean had no business toying around with such a creature of darkness. Then again, the Ouija board thing was pretty out there, so really, how much worse of a decision could this be?

 

After Cas pulled out, Dean crawled to the edge of the bed, his rear already a bit sore from the action. “Cas?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“How many girls you do it with? Like, per day?”

 

Cas gave a puzzled head tilt. “You ask strange questions, human.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“I don’t count.”

 

“Liar.”

 

Cas glared at him, something behind his eyes Dean couldn’t interpret. He was both terrifying and mystifying, and Dean wanted both. The man and the monster. He was fascinating.

 

“Nobody just stops keeping track of the people they’ve fucked,” Dean went on.

 

“They do if they lose count,” the incubus riposted.

 

Impressed, Dean raised his brows. Cas’ record really shouldn’t have surprised or aroused Dean, but it still did. Especially the latter. He felt his dick struggle to spring back to life, and he sat at the edge of the mattress and pressed down on Cas’ shoulders.

 

“Think you could lay some mojo on me down here?”

 

Cas knelt between Dean’s knees and took his tip between his lips, instantly reviving his erection with whatever magical voodoo was in his saliva. It tingled slightly but with warmth instead of cool, like a slow burn that seeped into his skin. It was invigorating, and suddenly Dean realized why Lisa’s blowjob had been lackluster. She couldn’t give him this.

 

When Cas pressed his pointed tongue to the sensitive spot under his head, it was all over. Dean clamped his mouth shut and hummed loudly, but it was quieter than the alternative of screaming. Cas took in his whole length, down to his pubic hairs, and Dean jutted his hips forward as he grasped Cas’ head with both hands. Breath heavy and sweat beading at his hairline, Dean crossed his ankles around Cas to urge him closer, sputtering his name incoherently as his cock prickled with pre-orgasm jitters.

 

Cas dug his claws into Dean’s thighs, so deep that Dean couldn’t help a labored cough as the incubus drew blood. He hollowed his cheeks as Dean gave one more needy thrust before coming in his mouth, and he swallowed around him to consume every drop. He was bleeding and experiencing his second orgasm within minutes, but both took a back burner to wanting Cas to stay.

 

After Cas slipped off with one last slurp at the tip, Dean lifted the demon’s chin. It was unnervingly intimate, and he flapped his wings in preparation to fly away.

 

“No, wait,” Dean barked. His head was still throbbing from the orgasm, but he pushed through the haze to grab Cas’ shoulder. “I was thinking, we should try some… some different stuff next time?”

 

Cas recoiled out of Dean’s touch and stood up. “Different stuff?”

 

“You never get special requests from time to time?”

 

Cas shook his head. “It isn’t unheard of, but the needs of most people I attend to are minimal.”

 

Of course. If someone’s desperate enough to resort to an incubus, they’re likely to settle for the most vanilla night ever. “So, you don’t wanna try… different stuff?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Like,” Dean shrugged, “you know, like kinky stuff.”

 

Cas’ electric blue eyes narrowed, clearly trying to interpret the strange request. “As long as I adhere to the laws of my kind, I do not see any reason to object. What did you have in mind?”

 

The idea that had popped into Dean’s mind translated into a mischievous smile. His eyes glinted with the image displaying in the forefront of his mind, and he became very specific with his thoughts, ruminating over the _thing_ plus Cas. When he left his daydream to look Cas in the eye again, he noticed a vaguely horrified look in his eye.

 

“Did you,” Dean faltered. “Can you… see what I’m thinking… right now?”

 

Cas nodded. “You were thinking that one very loudly.”

 

“Heh,” Dean chuckled. “So what do you think? You game?”

 

Bemused by the human’s strange taste, Cas sighed and looked toward the dresser. “Are they in there?”

 

Dean hopped off the bed, still naked as the day he was born. Admittedly, getting to actually tell Cas his idea would have been more fun than the fucker reading his dirty thoughts, but he took it in stride and stopped at his dresser. He smirked bashfully and opened the top drawer to pull out a pair of bright pink satin panties. Turning around, he lifted an expectant brow and awaited Cas’ verdict.

 

It wasn’t a smile. It wasn’t even a half-smile. But something in Cas’ face shifted. Stoic though he was, something glinted behind those luminescent eyes. Dean never brought up his love for these silky things to his partners, for fear of judgment, but he could tell Cas was all in before he uttered a word.

 

* * *

 

Dean made a point to confront Brother Shurley as soon as the opportunity presented itself, which ended up not being until Wednesday the following week. He couldn’t be straightforward about it, of course, but the fear of getting caught ate at him throughout the entire weekend. He couldn’t figure out if the guy was genuinely assuming the best, or if he had climbed the stairs to take a peak while Lisa was on her knees.

 

“Hey, Brother Shurley,” Dean greeted brightly as he passed him in the hallway. The smaller man carried a stack of manila folders higher than his head, and he had to turn slightly to see that it was Dean speaking to him.

 

“Oh hey Dean,” he exclaimed before resuming his trek to Mr. Ketch’s class. “What can I do for you?”

 

Dean followed him down the hallway. “Just wanted to let you know that the group project you mentioned to my dad is going just dandy.”

 

“Good Dean, that’s real good,” he said without missing a beat. Dean reared back slightly at the confident reply.

 

“Need any help with that, sir?”

 

“What, this? Oh sure! Thanks a bunch,” Brother Shurley, or Chuck, as Dean’s dad addressed him, slid the entirety of the stack into Dean’s unsuspecting arms. Dean squatted down slightly to catch the folders and balanced himself before continuing the rest of the way in bewilderment.

 

“Nice weather we had last week,” Dean mumbled behind stacks of papers, still fishing around the question of whether or not Chuck was outside for any part of he and Lisa’s extra-curricular activity.

 

He shrugged before pushing the ajar classroom door the rest of the way open. “I wouldn’t know. Spent most of the time indoors grading papers, distributing teacher supplies, stuff like that.”

 

“Oh come on, you didn’t sneak out at all? Not even… not even during lunch? During our _group project_ meeting?”

 

“Nah,” he swatted casually. “The teacher’s aide’s job is never done.”

 

Dean gingerly set down the enormous pile of manila folders and flipped the top one open briefly. Graded quizzes. His Consumer Math test was probably in the stack somewhere. Although thoroughly unconvinced of Chuck’s ignorance, he figured any further questioning would raise suspicions.

 

“Alright, see ya Chu-- I mean Brother Shurley.”

 

“Have a blessed day, Dean,” he called as Dean left the room fast enough to miss in a blink.

 

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek the whole way through English. He needed to talk to Lisa, but as a junior, she wasn’t in any of his classes. Maybe he could catch her between English and math. No, that was a bad idea. He should just text her. He slipped his phone out of his hoodie and into his lap. He pretended to pay attention as he opened up his messages. It wasn’t like this specific curriculum didn’t repeat the same information for twelve straight years, anyway. Let them hit him with their sudden _you-weren’t-listening_ questions.

 

**< < If Shurley says anything to you about a group project, just go with it **

 

The reply came two minutes later, right after Dean came back from diagramming a sentence on the board.

 

**> > Lol what?**

 

Not wanting to appear suspicious, especially after his trouble in Music Theory the previous week, he gave it a few minutes before he texted back. He knew teachers talked. By now, even the elementary teachers would’ve gotten wind.

 

**< < He talked to my dad and said something about you and me going outside during lunch**

 

**> > Omg Dean, wth?? He saw us???**

 

Dean clenched his jaw and put his phone back into his pocket. Right now, he couldn’t deal with questions that had no answer. He just needed her to know.

 

“Mr. Winchester,” the teacher’s posh British accent cut through the silence. No one had volunteered to answer the question, so of freaking course, he’d single out the pastor’s kid.

 

Dean studied the sentence on the board briefly. “It could be rewritten to use a preposition as the sentence opener, Mr. Ketch.”

 

“Very good,” he said, erasing the board and writing something else.

 

**< < He saw us go up the stairs. I don’t think he saw us after that**

 

Dean held his breath awaiting the reply.

 

**> > You think? What’s that supposed to mean?**

 

He glanced at the clock above the whiteboard. How had only fifteen minutes passed? He let out a silent exhale through his nose. When Mr. Ketch instructed everyone to take out a pencil and spare piece of paper, Dean took the liberty to look down at his phone more intently, since writing called for the head position anyway.

 

**< < idk Lisa, he isn’t acting weird about it, that’s all I know **

 

**> > Screw you, Dean! If your dad finds out what’s really going on I’ll lose my scholarship and get kicked out of school!**

 

**< < Sorry babe, that’s all I know for real**

 

**> > ok well no more bjs at school for you, dumbass**

 

Dean chuckled slightly but cleared his throat to cover for it and looked up as Ketch continued with his questions. It wasn’t funny; he was laughing more to let out nervous energy than anything else. And as long as he had an incubus at his beck and call, he would be okay without her… services. As long as they could stay friends, that was fine with him.

 

The most interesting thing that happened all morning was one of the ninth graders throwing up on Ms. Rosen, in which Dean found an immense amount of secondary satisfaction. Today was good. Everything was ordinary. Until it wasn’t.

 

Chapel was in full swing, Pastor John Winchester at the pulpit rambling about the tithe in Leviticus and how it somehow correlates to doing your best in school. If his own son couldn’t make the connection, he probably needed to rethink the premise of the message, but Dean wasn’t about to make a fuss over it. In the rare instances John physically disciplined his sons, they were very… tree branch-y.

 

“‘A tithe of everything from the land, whether grain from the soil or fruit from the trees’,” Pastor John began to read, but was interrupted by his water bottle toppling over. It thudded bluntly against the altar carpet before rolling down one step. “Ahem,” he coughed before bending over to retrieve the bottle. He recited the rest from memory there on the steps. “‘...belongs to the Lord; it is holy to the Lord.’”

 

The school full of students and faculty were unfazed. Around Dean, a few overachievers made notes to study later, namely Ed and Harry. He looked down at his own empty lap and wondered if he should at least open his Bible to the sermon passage; he decided in favor of it as he felt Mrs. Tran’s judging eyes staring a hole into him from the end of the row.

 

As soon as Dean leafed over to the correct verse, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He peered at the far left corner of the sanctuary, where one of the speakers cast a shadow. The blackness shifted slightly, and Dean stopped his breath in his throat in alarm. As everyone else stared obliviously at the man delivering the dragging message, Dean’s eyes stayed fixed on the shadow, now morphing into a demonic shape.

 

“We are commanded to give our first and best for God, young people,” the pastor said as he held his Bible by its spine at shoulder level. “When you get up in the morning, are you using those first few minutes to pray and read his word?”

 

Dean turned his attention to his dad when the shadow abruptly stopped moving. Before Dean could let out the breath he was holding, his dad’s water bottle flew off the pulpit once again, this time exploding on Toni Bevell, a teacher’s aide sitting front and center.

 

John Winchester clumped down the altar stairs with mouth gaped open. She screamed as water soaked through her dress. Dean stood and scooted out of the pew, several scattered people following him up and the rest leaning forward with shocked whispers.

 

“Ms. Bevell, I’m so sorry,” John tried to console. “I didn’t… my hand wasn’t… I didn’t knock it off…”

 

Dean didn’t hear her blubbering or the children in the front row starting to cry. He didn’t hear whatever other excuses his dad was offering. In his core, Dean knew the reason for this inexplicable circumstance. But he couldn’t entertain the thought. He had taken the game out of the church. They were safe from Exorcist level shit creeping around.

 

Weren’t they?

 

Sure, they had messed around with a Ouija board. And sure, they had no idea what they had invited in until it was too late. But they were just having fun. Summoning something spiritual didn’t actually have any long-term effects on a building, did it?

 

Dean picked up a wet shard of bottle plastic and looked at the corner. The shadow had stopped moving, but a deep sense of dread washed over him. Spooked, he dropped the piece and walked past his frantic father and surrounding congregants, retreating to the men’s restroom as fast as possible. He grasped the sink edges and looked down. He couldn’t bear to look up. He felt like if he looked into the mirror, he’d see something else move out of the corner of his eye.

 

Rubbing his eyes to keep from seeing his reflection, he remained there until he was startled by someone else coming into the room. He relaxed when he realized it was his dad, but he refused to bullshit around and act something weird didn’t just happen.

 

“What was that?”

 

John pulled two paper towels out of the dispenser and wiped his hands. After dropping them into the trash bin, he turned around with a small, tight smile. “Everything’s fine, son. You’d best get to your next class. I dismissed chapel already.”

 

“Dad,” Dean responded flatly. “Something knocked over that water bottle.”

 

Nodding, John looked at the floor and and put his hands in his pockets. His smile was gone. “We’ll talk about it at home, okay?”

 

Dean pursed his lips and reluctantly left the restroom. Why did he feel partially responsible for the church’s spiritual unrest? It wasn’t even his fault. In fact, he kind of sacrificed himself for those losers at the lock-in. That should’ve at least evened out the score. Cas was definitely hearing from him tonight.

 

The rest of the day was uncomfortably on-edge. His teachers’ opening prayers were a little longer, “in your name we pray” was a little louder, and nobody set water bottles on their desks. A couple of idiot eighth graders, Walt and Rory, thought it’d be funny to knock books out of people’s hands in the hallway and blame it on the “ghost.” Dean rolled his eyes and held onto his backpack straps to keep himself from punching one of them in the face.

 

After stopping by an electronics store on the way home, Dean dropped his stuff on the stairs and rushed up to his room. When Cas arrived this time, he was confused when Dean shoved a flimsy plastic bag in his face without as much as a greeting.

 

“What’s this?” he graveled as he pulled out a prepaid phone.

 

“That,” Dean pointed, “is so I don’t have to keep summoning your ass. My mom is going to start wondering why her rose candle is burning down so fast.”

 

Cas stared at he plastic covered phone like he was afraid it would bite him.

 

“Come on man, never talked on the phone?”

 

Cas shook his head.

 

Dean shrugged and took his recent purchase out of Cas’ hands to open it. “Well, you’re gonna learn how to use it. I call, you press the green button. It’s a beautiful relationship. Also, what was the deal in the church?”  


“What deal? Your father’s church?” Cas asked with a head tilt.

 

Dean looked over the demon’s face for even a hint of sarcasm. “That wasn’t you?” Dean didn’t feel any better when Cas shook his head. “One of the shadows in the auditorium started to move. And my dad’s water bottle got knocked off the podium. Twice. If that wasn’t you, then who was it?”

 

Finally understanding the situation, Cas perched on the bed and relaxed his wings. “That wasn’t an incubus. It was another kind of demon.”

 

“Great,” Dean spat. “We’ve got a demon infestation.”

 

“The board opened up a portal.”

 

“No shit!”

 

Wanting to change the subject to something more immediately productive, Cas glanced toward the dresser. “Did you want me to wear the panties again?”  


“Oh, uh,” Dean said while shifting his footing. “Maybe. But afterward, I was hoping you’d stick around for a while. To hang out.”

 

If Cas wasn’t puzzled by this human’s behavior before, he certainly was now. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to explain, but shook his head and approached the bed. “Just don’t go anywhere after we finish, alright?”

 

“Alright,” Cas agreed skeptically.

 

Dean had a thought, but he pushed it to the back of his head so Cas wouldn’t see. Having someone able to read sexy thoughts was pretty cool, but he wanted this one to be a surprise. “One more thing. I changed my mind on the panties.” Dean whipped them out of the drawer in record time. “I’m wearing them tonight.”

 

Cas growled deeply, almost too low for human hearing, but sat back in silence as Dean began undressing. When Dean made a spinning motion with his index finger, Cas took the hint and faced the wall so he could change in peace. The human behavior of having something very specific to take off before intercourse confused Cas, but it wasn’t his place to question it. Besides, the small piece of fabric still had Cas’ scent on it from last time, which might be enjoyable.

 

“Turn around.”

 

It wasn’t that Cas didn’t expect to see Dean standing bashfully in only a pair of silken pink panties, but that he didn’t expect to react the way he did. His blood temperature rose and fangs began to extend involuntarily. His dick enlarged of its own volition, and he glanced down in fascination at his body changes, wondering what it all meant.

 

Dean’s nervous stare was replaced with a delighted grin. Cas’ blue eyes flickered darker, like electricity ebbing in and out in a storm. His beastly black wings twitched in interest, and the erection between his legs was telling, to say the least. Dean took a step toward the bed, to which Cas responded by all but pouncing on him.

 

Knocked to the floor, Dean laughed and watched as Cas began sniffing him. His nose drifted lower and lower until he reached Dean’s underwear, which pulled tightly across his hips and did an absolute horrendous job at holding his balls. His erection tented against the fabric and pulled it away from his skin. He made sure to jerk himself a few times before letting Cas turn around, so he could see every dip and bump of his cock through the silky underwear.

 

Cas made it to the gaping hole Dean’s proud erection made from pulling the front of the panties from his abdomen, and stuck his nose in it to inhale and exhale several times. Dean laughed at the sensation of having so much air blown on him, but he laid back and enjoyed Cas’ exploration. Cas looked back up briefly before pressing his nose against Dean’s still clothed dick.

 

“You like it?” Dean prodded.

 

“You smell like me,” Cas mumbled against the effortlessly smooth fabric. He rubbed his face against it, the shape of Dean’s skin, hair, and dick multiplied against the revealing medium. The fact that he had never encountered a human with such specific tastes before did not stop him from acting on instinct, and Cas unrolled his tongue to lick all the way up Dean’s satin-covered shaft.

 

Dean shuddered beneath him and let out a guttural “Oh” with shut eyes. He tilted his head back and waited for the next movement, enjoying the feeling of not being in control. He excused the fleeting thought of how foolish he was to let a sex demon have his way with him, and gave into the thrill of lying under this being.

 

If he was honest, something inside him was warning against these encounters. It was the same voice that warned him against sneaking off with Benny for booze and a quick fuck, but he chalked it up as the the indoctrination against _the lust of the flesh_ , and took every chance he could to combat it.

 

Cas’ eyes nearby bugged out of his head as a bead of precome bled onto the panties. The circle grew wetter as Cas mouthed at Dean’s balls, which were peeping out of the thin strip of fabric at the bottom. His fangs barely grazed Dean’s skin as Cas pressed his face close, but he didn’t want to bite the human. Not this time. He was being so good and pliant, he didn’t want to waste the venom.

 

With a feral grumble, Cas stuck his claws under hem and yanked the panties down Dean’s legs. His cock sprang free with a bounce, and Cas quickly chased the origin of the smell of Dean’s arousal by swallowing down his entire length in one dip. Dean bucked up with eyes wide open, closing his thighs around Cas’ head and grabbing onto his hair. The lack of warning before the sudden warmth and tightness took his breath away, and he blinked away black spots as Cas continued to suck and lick.

 

When Cas dragged his fingers up Dean’s balls, he couldn’t help but praise the demon despite the fact that he owed him no such thing. “Fuck Cas, that’s so good. Keep doing that.” Cas bobbed up and down enthusiastically, twirling his tongue around the tip. “You drive me crazy, you know that? Absolutely fuckin’ wild.”

 

Cas sucked harder in reply, and Dean ran his fingers through his hair approvingly. When Dean began huffing in time with erratic thrusts upward, Cas contracted his throat muscles around Dean’s cock, throwing him into an orgasm that made him see stars. Dean came hot and frantic in his mouth, and Cas stayed latched on until every drop was consumed. When he slipped off with a reluctant pop, Dean chuckled and covered his face.

 

“That tickled,” he laughed. “The thing you did at the end.”

 

Cas didn’t know whether Dean expected an expression of gratitude or apology in response to that, so he gave neither. Instead, he pulled Dean’s ankles to the sides until his legs were spread wide open.

 

“Wait,” Dean barked with an outstretched hand. “I wanna hang out now.”

 

With furrowed brows, the confused creature sat back on his haunches and waited for Dean. “You want to… talk?”

 

Dean nodded.

 

“About what?”

 

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “Tell me something about yourself.”

 

Never in all his years had he met such a strange human. Cas peered at him with skeptical eyes, but Dean seemed genuinely interested in him, so he decided to play along. “Before you summoned me, I engaged in coitus with three bridesmaids and the bride’s fiance.”

 

Dean scrunched up his face and blinked away the visual. “Okay, too much info, dude.”

 

“You asked to tell me something about --”

 

“Yeah yeah, I didn’t mean that,” he said with a headshake. “I know you do business with other people. It’s kind of part of what you are. I mean tell me something like, a hobby.” By the look on Cas’ face, he had never even heard the word before. “Something you enjoy outside of work.”

 

The explanation eased Cas, and he sat the rest of the way down on the floor. He thought for a few seconds about the question. There were so few hours of the day he wasn’t working, he didn’t know what to say. The closest he ever got to a break was this exact moment, when nothing was expected out of him. And it was a moment Dean, not Cas, created.

 

“This is nice,” he replied at last.

 

“But Cas, this is uh, this is still… work. Technically.”

 

Cas scratched his head. “Yes, but what we’re doing now… I like it.”

 

Dean beamed. “You enjoy hanging out with me?”

 

Before Cas had a chance to respond, Mary called Dean down for dinner. Dean deflated slightly at the interruption, but crawled up and dug through his dresser for some boxer briefs. “Be right down, mom!” he shouted while hopping on one foot to slip into his underwear. He put his school clothes back on and turned around, only to find Cas had disappeared. His heart sank, wishing he had the chance to say goodbye first, but was heartened to find the prepaid phone missing as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As previously mentioned, this work is complete, but on a schedule. My next update will be this Wednesday. Updates will be every Saturday and Wednesday until all chapters are published.


	4. Dean and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life for Dean goes from bad to worse when he attempts to avenge a friend who has been assaulted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of off-camera sexual assault to an underage individual, cringey religious self-righteousness Like Woah  
> Other stuff: Benny and Dean do The Do, but it's not heavily detailed
> 
> I turned 30 today! 30 on January 30th :D Excited to celebrate with a new chapter. I hope you cringe just as hard reading it as I did writing it. Spiritual abuse is a very real thing, and it's not an easy thing to portray without sounding insane. Although the story is obviously fictional, I've written in indoctrination elements that young people in certain circles get fed repeatedly. I know the nitty-gritties aren't pretty, but they're necessary to convey the story I had in my head. Dean wants out, and I want all of you to understand why.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: deans-jiggly-pudding ! :)

“Don’t forget your name at the top,” Brother Zeke instructed the teens sitting in neat rows consisting of uncomfortable fold-up chairs. One of the elementary classrooms became Teen Meeting on Sundays and Wednesday nights, as was obvious by the alphabet banners and finger paintings in the corner. “Does anyone need a pen?”

 

On the boys’ side, five hands shot up. Separated by a space wide enough for the youth pastor to comfortably walk between was the girls’ side, in which only one hand was raised, but quickly went down after Tessa whispered and handed Lisa her extra pen. Everyone went to work checking off their religious duties: Sunday School, church, Wednesday night service, and door-to-door visitation. 

 

“Remember, when you show up for church, it’s pleasing in the sight of our heavenly father,” Brother Zeke’s smooth voice began turning preachy. “‘Be ye holy, as I am holy’, he says. When you come to his House, you are closer to him already. As his children, we must remove ourselves as far as possible from the world and its influence. Should you, as a young person not of this world, be mingling with sinners, or among your own kind in his holy place?”

 

Dean checked off each activity nonchalantly. His attendance remained perfect from the moment he stepped foot into the youth group, but it had nothing to do with his choice. He tossed the paper into the offering plate as it passed by and immediately began thinking about his and Benny’s plans.

 

“When you make a habit of choosing church while you’re young,” the youth pastor continued, “you build a pattern you’ll follow for the rest of your life. Come to each activity, not to see friends, and not because your parents drag you along anyway.” Dean felt several eyes on him and he looked down uncomfortably. “Come because it’s the right thing to do! Come to be closer to the Lord!”

 

Dean couldn’t count the ways he was relieved when one of the girls raised her hand.

 

“Yes, Miss Harvelle?”

 

“What’s the Top Ten Activity going to be this year, Brother Zeke?”

 

The youth pastor smiled tightly. “Ah, that. I’m still working out the details with the pastor. Don’t worry, I’ll announce it as soon as we agree on a location and exact time frame.”

 

“My work is like, super strict on scheduling,” she countered. “I need to know as soon as possible so I can ask off.”

 

Dean furrowed his brows. Jo hadn’t made Top Ten the past two times, and she had already missed two services. If she was planning on making it, she must have plans to collect points from visitors she’d bring. He tapped his pen on his lip thoughtfully. Who did she even know that wasn’t already in church? Who did Jo know, period? She never talked to anyone. The chick was practically a hermit.

 

“I will discuss it with Pastor John immediately after church, Miss Harvelle,” Zeke assured her with a curt nod. Jo raised a brow but looked back down to complete checking off the boxes.

 

Brother Zeke’s message was an utter bore. Nothing Dean hadn’t already heard regurgitated nine billion times, but with more yelling. Apparently, keeping your face shaved made you closer to God and beards were the devil. Dean quietly slipped his pen into his shirt pocket and crossed his fingers once he realized this spiel was a long road to nowhere. The tension broke with the youth pastor’s ending prayer, and the first one to hurry out was Benny with his bit of facial hair he was trying to grow.

 

Dean threw an arm around his shoulder once he caught up with him outside. “Hey man, he’s a douche. Don’t listen to him.”

 

“Ah, he don’t bother me none, brother,” the smiley senior responded under a newsboy cap and thick Cajun accent. “Just wanted outta there before he could tell me to my face that the scruff has t’go.”

 

“Don’t you dare shave,” Dean murmured by his ear. “Do you have any idea how good that shit feels rubbing against my thighs?”

 

Benny tossed his head back in a deep belly laugh as they walked. “I’ve got a vague idea, yes. Speaking of which?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten, handsome. See you at Biggerson’s?”

 

“You know it,” Benny said as he pulled away with a heavy nod. “Everybody else coming, too?”

 

“Lisa and Sam,” Dean listed off. “You talk to anyone else?”

 

“Tessa might show up. Jo, too.”

 

Dean grimaced. “Tessa’s gonna invite every damn chaperone in the church.”

 

Benny put a finger to his mouth. Dean whipped around to see the rest of the teen group quickly approaching earshot. A wave of dread coursed through him at the thought of word getting back to his dad that he was engaging in one of the worst things old fogies around those parts could imagine -- gossip. He didn’t actually care what other people thought, of course, but the fear of listening to his dad’s repetitive lectures was enough to keep quiet. He turned back to Benny, cheeks flushed.

 

In this upbringing, being eighteen didn’t equate to being free.

 

“See you there,” Benny winked before crunching gravel underfoot on the way to his truck.

 

In the world of terrible ideas, this one was up there. It was risky and public and inappropriate, which is why it thrilled Dean so much. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to Cas, but he tried to push it away. Cas had sex with other people on the daily. Dean shouldn’t feel guilty about this. In fact, this was going to be a good thing. Cas made it clear that Dean wasn’t special, so he should return the sentiment and get his rocks off with whoever the hell he wanted. When Cas was with him last time, that was just animal instinct in his eyes the whole time, wasn’t it? He didn’t actually care about Dean; to a sex demon, he was just a client, right?

 

Biggerson’s was as busy as could be expected for a Sunday night, but the teenagers didn’t mind waiting. They ended up at a corner booth that stretched in a wide circle, accommodating all six of them. Benny scooted in first, followed by Dean and Sam, plus a blonde girl that looked about his brother’s age. After her, Tessa and Lisa sat at the end. Jo never showed.

 

“Who’s your girlfriend, Sammy?” Dean whispered once they had shifted around enough to get comfortable.

 

“She’s not my ‘girlfriend’, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes. “You know what Brother Zeke says about dating in high school.”

 

“Yeah, and you know it’s crap, right?”

 

“I know,” Sam assured him. “Her name is Jessica.”

 

Dean reached across his brother to shake the girl’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jessica.”

 

The bright-eyed girl shook his hand firmly and smiled. “Hi, Dean. You too.”

 

Dean swelled with pride. She seemed real nice, and Sam looked happy. Hopefully, their father would let them hang out a bit, instead of being a total dickwad. Chances were, group settings such as this would be the only way to get away with seeing each other, but Sam was already learning the ropes on that. Big brothers were good teachers and Sam had a few schemes of his own.

 

After everyone placed their drink order, Dean watched subtly as Lisa scanned the restaurant. Understanding why she had chosen the end seat sank into him, and he cleared his throat to pull the rest of the table into a conversation so she could work. Amid the chatter, he didn’t miss the frankly disgusting look a middle-aged man gave her before heading to the bathroom.

 

“So I guess Jo couldn’t make it. Too bad I guess,” Dean rattled. “Maybe she’s forcing an answer out of Brother Zeke about the Top Ten activity.” He let out a humorless laugh as Lisa slipped out of the booth, undetected by all at the table but him. “Where do you guys think we’re going?”

 

“Last year it was Niagara Falls,” said Tessa. “This year I hope it’s something less… wet.”

 

“Jo’s got her work cut out for her, if you ask me,” Benny piped up. “Ain’t she already missed some stuff?”

 

Not wanting to give Tessa tattletale fodder by gossiping, Dean shrugged. “Visitors count for double points. She might have some tricks up her sleeve.”

 

“She usually does,” Tessa confirmed with an eye roll. “And what was that about needing to know for work? Girl, we all work. Sit the heck down.”

 

“I don’t work,” Sam interjected.

 

Dean ignored his brother. “I’m more worried about where we’re getting dragged than who I’m getting dragged there with. What about a cruise? We’ve never done that.”

 

Tessa laughed. “And be around mixed bathing? Your dad would have a cow.”

 

The term always bristled Dean. Mixed bathing? What the fuck did fundamentalists think they were doing? Splashing around a fucking tub with rubber duckies? He swallowed the urge to blurt out that he had no problem with a ship full of half-naked ladies and gentlemen.

 

“Where’s Lisa?” Tessa asked when she looked at the empty seat.

 

“Uh, I think she went to the bathroom.” Dean camouflaged his voice to give off the ol’ _ I’m not sure  _ vibe.

 

“It’s been a while, I think I’m gonna go check on her.”

 

“No!” Dean exclaimed a bit too dramatically. “I’m sure she’s fine. She just left, actually. She might not be able to concentrate on peeing with someone else in there.”

 

Tessa pursed her lips and raised a brow. “No, I really should go see if she’s --”

 

“Everybody ready to order?” their cheery server interrupted.

 

Dean said “Yes” and Tessa said “No” simultaneously.

 

“I’ll take the double cheeseburger with extra onions,” he followed up immediately. The server’s eyes bounced from him to Tessa curiously. “Mustard in one of those cute little cups. And fries for the side.” Dean was quite pleased to find Tessa seething at the end of the booth.

 

Benny blinked in bewilderment against the fuss between Tessa and Dean, but he placed his order, followed by Sam and Jess. Tessa finally let up and spat out something about a chocolate milkshake when it was her turn.

 

“Hey,” Dean spoke up when the server turned to leave. “Can I have magic dust on the fries?”

 

She smiled and motioned towards the shaker in the center of the booth. “It’s on your table, sugar.”

 

“Oh, heh, thanks uh,” Dean laughed with a goofy smile. That was it. That was as long as he could stall. He had done his part. He waved in thanks as she turned to put in the order. He cleared his throat and sipped his cola as the entire table glared at him inquisitively. “So. Maybe Disney World instead? Or is that too uh, antisemitic for our taste?”

 

“Did I miss the order?” came Lisa’s welcomed voice. Dean’s fake smile fell when she sat back down. She looked rough. Her hair was disheveled, and the second button on her blouse was still open. Her lip quivered when she attempted a half smile.

 

“No worries,” Dean answered as he waved over the server. He tried to dismiss intrusive thoughts of what she had to do to put food on the table. At seventeen. She looked like this after every extended absence into the bathrooms. He tried to get used to it. He tried not to let it bother him. But he could never quite swing it.

 

“What can I get you, darlin’?” the lady asked as she too out her pad and pen again.

 

Lisa flipped through the menu quickly to disguise her trembling hands. “I’ll take a half order of loaded fries, please.”

 

“Be right up,” the server cooed as she took the menu.

 

Lisa let out a silent sigh, avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table. Dean poked at his ice with the straw. Sam and Jess were talking about something far more scholastically advanced than was justifiable outside of school.

 

“Gosh Lisa,” Tessa grumbled. “Button up your shirt. Do you want the whole world to see your cleavage?”

 

“Oh,” Lisa puffed, looking down before fumbling with her blouse.

 

Dean rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head, he might’ve pulled a muscle. He couldn’t help the bout of rage surge through him. “Chill out, Tessa.”

 

She scoffed before taking over the task for Lisa, who couldn’t get a grip on the buttons. “Easy for you to say. You just can’t control your eyes.”

 

Dean’s head throbbed with a wave of rage. He bit his lip to keep from speaking, but cocked his head to the side and let out a long breath through his nose. Their server burst through the kitchen door with their orders and made a beeline for their table, but he couldn’t even begin to care. Tessa had no clue. No. Fucking. Clue. What she was even talking about. And little else made him more irate than someone so quick to judge when they had so little to go on.

 

By the time Tessa had buttoned up Lisa, their server had closed the distance between them and the deliciously aromatic, heart-attack-level greasy food. Benny sensed the tension and bent the conversation toward small talk over classes and teachers. Lisa forked at her fries, never looking up. She took a grand total of four uninterested bites before spreading the rest across the plate. 

 

Dean only pretended to enjoy the beef and onions between his teeth, listening with utter lack of interest as the conversation went from school to fall break, then to which teachers liked who. Dean silently filed away that Chuck had the hots for Ms. Rosen, and chuckled at the thought of him railing into her from behind as she squealed like a pig.

 

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked beside him quietly.

 

“Nothin’, just Brother Shurley and Ms. Rosen,” Dean replied as he took another bite. “Gettin’ it on.”

 

“After marriage, of course,” Tessa interrupted as she sat up ridiculously straight.

 

Dean finished chewing and raised a non-committal brow as he swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Obviously.” He tried to ignore the fact that she had actually been the one intruding on his and Sam’s conversation. He tried to figure out which he’d rather have at this table: Tessa’s self-righteous ass or Jo’s basketcase-level introversion. Either way, he had to avoid saying anything that Tessa would go straight to his father with because he knew she fucking would.

 

“It’s a sin to talk about inappropriate things in mixed company,” Tessa continued. “I’m surprised you don’t know that, Winchester.”

 

The family name was the last straw. Dean forced up a closed-mouthed, squinty smile and set down the last bite of his burger. “Is it really inappropriate, though?”

 

“You tell me. Does it make you think impure thoughts?”

 

“Is it any consolation that my ‘impure thoughts’ don’t include you?”

 

“Ugh,” Tessa coughed. “Yes, actually. I don’t want to be a part of your mental harem.”

 

Dean guffawed. Tessa was definitely spank-bank material, but the way she carried herself ruined it for him. What few times he tried to imagine her were spoiled by her accompanying condemnatory voice and general bad vibe.

 

“Wait,” she revised. “You admit to having impure thoughts?”

 

_ Shit, she caught that. Shit, Shitty McShitface, Shittacular Shitville. Better start rehearsing the excuse. Sorry Dad, I was calling Tessa out on her bullshit and apparently I’m an ‘adulterer of the heart.’ I won’t stop though, because girls are hot. _

 

“Are we really talkin’ ‘bout this nonsense, when we could be talkin’ ‘bout the ghost at church?” Benny jumped in, much to Dean’s alleviation.

 

“At first I thought my dad had knocked off the water bottle,” Sam supplied.

 

Jess nodded. “Miss Masters said if it happens again, the pastor’s going to do an exorcism.”

 

Dean’s forehead creased. He must’ve discussed it at a teacher meeting because he hadn’t brought it up at home. Dean’s mother didn’t even know. So much for his promise to talk about it later. “You’ve got Masters as a teacher?” he directed at Jess.

 

“Uh huh,” she affirmed as the server placed their checks on the table. “U.S. History.”

 

The gears in his head turned. Fifth grade and a bunch of hormonal ninth graders. The woman was a saint. “She’s pretty cool. She taught me in elementary,” he told Jess, to which she smiled and nodded. She probably didn’t care, but it was sweet of her to act like it.

 

Dean gave one last glance to Lisa’s uneaten food. She pulled one of many crumpled up bills and flattened it beside her check before stuffing the rest in her pocket before anyone could question the amount of money she had. He turned to his side when he felt Benny give a gentle jab with his elbow.

 

“We still on for tonight, brother?”

 

“Yeah, just… Gimme a little bit. I’ll meet you in the bathroom in ten minutes.”

 

“You got it, chief.”

 

As everyone else shimmied out of the booth, Dean loitered until Benny disappeared into the boys’ room and Lisa scurried out with her head down. He followed her out, careful not to raise suspicions, and found her on the side of the building under the cloak of darkness.

 

“Lisa,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

 

He could barely see her, but he heard her sniff back a sob. “No, I’m not okay, Dean! I’m just doing what I have to in order to keep the water running. And my mom is barely sober enough to show up every week so I can stay at the church’s school. And my dad hasn’t called in months. And Tessa’s such a fucking asshole, and if she finds out what I do --”

 

“She’s not gonna find out,” Dean butted in, extending an arm blindly into the dark to touch her arm. “Hey, I’m not gonna let her find out. Nobody’s gonna find out. Not on my watch.” He felt her tremble under his touch, whether from the cold or fear or both, was anyone’s guess. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

“I’m okay,” she said shakily. Asphalt scraped under her feet as she shifted her footing. “I just lose my appetite after johns sometimes. I’ll live. Thanks, though. I should go.”

 

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded to the darkness that separated them. As she walked into the light to unlock her car, he began his trip back inside. He hated himself for not being more for her. Not that she ever asked. She didn’t want his pity, that much she made clear long before tonight. All she ever asked for was his silence. But it wasn’t enough.

 

It was never going to be enough.

 

Deciding to take out his frustration on Benny’s waiting ass, he turned the corner to re-enter Biggerson’s. The staff ignored him as he headed directly for the bathroom, and he even saw a couple of other church members seated not far from where he and his friends just ate. He waved politely before disappearing into the bathroom, where he met Benny’s smiling face by the sinks. 

 

“You gonna stay quiet for me, or are the Miltons out there gonna know who’s screwing you by closing time?”

 

“You know I’m not the quiet type, mister,” Benny teased. “Guess you’ll have’ta be gentle.”

 

Dean leaned one arm on the wall, extending his neck to tower over the peach-fuzzed man as much as possible. “Then I guess we’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow. You know I’m not the gentle type… mister.”

 

Benny’s eyes fell to the lips that gave the warning. Swallowing, a smirk turned up on the corner of his mouth as he embraced his place on the receiving end. “Got myself ready while I was waiting.”

 

Dean’s eyes darkened at the thought of Benny fingering himself open, grunting through the burn, wriggling in finger by finger for the past few minutes. He couldn’t help the groan that rumbled up his throat, and Benny didn’t miss it.

 

“Well?” he leered. “You gon’ stand there and look pretty, or --”

 

Benny’s urging was interrupted by Dean taking handfuls of his buttoned shirt and suspenders,  heaving him into the largest stall. He clicked the lock before thrashing pants and underwear out of the way, dropping both sets at their ankles before turning Benny around to face the wall. Dean pinned him there as he guided the blunt end of his dick to his entrance, the possibility of someone walking in only arousing him further.

 

They never did fool around with foreplay. And no kissing. Dean and Benny had never kissed -- that was too intimate. For what they both wanted, quick, rough, and non-face to face was the only way to go. They were friends first, plus… whatever this was. Benefits? They never questioned what they were or where it would go; they simply accepted their existence on that plane and went on with their lives. Vague as it was, Dean found serenity in it. In a world where every word had two meanings and people found intent behind every move, it was nice to have something that just was. No expectations, no connotations. Just a dick in a hole, with friendly conversation in between.

 

Both were relieved when they concluded their tryst without interruption. It was a rare thing in a public restroom, but not unheard of. Both a mess of sweat and come, they fixed their bedraggled clothing and composed themselves enough to walk out with even breaths -- a few minutes apart, of course.

 

Dean passed a gruff, bearded man wearing a beanie on his way out, but was still too high on endorphins to bother with even a glance in his direction. For all the town-wide friendliness John spread in hopes of “reaching” more people, the practice never rubbed off on Dean. He had no interest in spreading the good news, especially after a quickie in the boys’ room. Especially if the lost soul was cute and needed a good fucking. Mixing evangelism and casual sex seemed a bit contradictory.

 

He hardly had the key turned in the Impala door when a weak whimper caught his attention from the very shadows he left minutes prior. A panicked flush of blood rushed to his brain as he recognized the tone of the person crying.

 

“Lisa?” he barked, rushing into the dark. 

 

The response was a quick step backward, signaled only by shoes grating on asphalt. The restaurant’s dark shadow enveloped the space too much for Dean to make out any shapes, but this much was certain: It was Lisa and she was mortified.

 

He reached out, touching her arm, and died a little when she retracted back with a shudder. “What happened?” he asked, much quieter this time. “Are you hurt?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed behind closed lips. She drew in a shaky breath but broke down on the exhale. “After you left, another man come up to my car. I was still pretty grossed out from the last guy so I told him, just a blowjob. That’s it. But… he didn’t listen.”

 

Dean’s lips grew numb as the blood drained from his head.

 

“I told him to stop… Why didn’t he stop? I just wanted him to stop.”

 

Dean sucked in a cold breath as chills rippled down his spine. “Oh my god, Lisa. He raped you?”

 

Lisa only sobbed in response, an occasional sniff punctuating her grievous cries. Dean stepped out of her personal space and clamped his eyes shut, even though he couldn’t see anyway. He rubbed his eyes angrily, a thousand thoughts rushing through his head. How badly he wanted to murder that man. How quickly he would have taken her place. How incredibly unfair it was for her to have to resort to renting herself to strangers in order to pay her parents’ bills when she wasn’t even eighteen yet.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into the dark.

 

Lisa’s breaths consisted of terrified moans punctuated by tiny gasps. She sounded like she wanted to reply, but no words could do the job, anyway. Guilt washed over Dean. Why didn’t he stay until she was safe in her car? This didn’t have to happen. If he had just waited ten extra seconds…

 

Condemnation gave way to rage. No. He could blame himself until he was blue in the face, but this was someone else’s fault, and that man would soon rue the day he was born. He tried to remember the face he walked right past, and could only picture an indistinct, fuzzy approximation. Beard. Beanie. Rough look. It didn’t matter; he had been seen so he was as good as dead.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

She thought for a moment. “He didn’t use a condom.”

 

“Okay,” Dean replied. “I’ll get you something at the drugstore tomorrow before school.”

 

More pavement crunched as she walked towards the light of the parking lot. “Thanks, Dean,” she breathed as she passed him. When he heard her car start up, he leaned his head against the side of the building and closed his eyes. He couldn’t push the sound of her helpless cries out of his mind. He pounded the unyielding wall with a furious grunt. Taking in breath by deep breath, he attempted to calm himself against the cold bricks. It wasn’t working, and he could never make it better, and Lisa didn’t deserve one iota of this. 

 

He bulldozed back into the restaurant, shoving servers out of the way and almost knocking over an old lady standing between him and the bathrooms. Swinging open the men’s door, he marched in and waited outside the only occupied stall. He could feel the piece of shit’s repulsive aura, smell his stink. Bolts of abhorrent wrath surged into each fist and behind his eyes as the stall door opened.

 

The greasy, smelly man shot a threatening look at Dean as he pushed past him with no intention of washing his hands. In a wrathful swoop, Dean backed up until he was standing in front of him again, then jolted an elbow in his face as he sent a knee into his groin. The man reacted with an angry grunt, grabbing Dean and easily throwing him against the sink mirror. 

 

Dean heard a shatter behind him and covered his eyes. Glass fell on and all around him, small shards cutting into him as he tried to shield himself. After stumbling onto his feet, Dean began relentlessly socking the man in the jaw. After disorienting him, Dean swung his toe into the back of the man’s knee, sending him to his knees, where Dean continued punching until he lay flat on his face. The man bleeding on the floor glanced to the side, swiped up a shard of glass, and made a swing at Dean, who leaned back to miss it.

 

No longer pinned down, the stranger kicked Dean into the wall before staggering to his feet, his beanie falling off in the process. Dizzy from hitting his head on the bathroom wall, Dean pulled his knees to his chest and held his arm over his face. The man lifted and flung him against a stall, which bent under the force. Dean felt something dislodge in his shoulder, and he cried out in pain as he tumbled to the floor.

 

“You asshole!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you, do you hear me?”

 

“What for, shortstop?”

 

“For hurting my friend,” Dean gritted mere inches from his face, eyes sharp and unblinking. Spit hit his face as the man hawked out a laugh.

 

“Well y’friend,” he slurred, “is a little slut.”

 

Dean snapped. He grasped the man’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could, determined not to breathe again until this man’s breath stopped. His lip turned up in disdain as the man hacked and slapped at him helplessly before kneeling onto the floor. Dean could see the end in sight when he was suddenly interrupted by two cops bursting through the door.

 

“Hands up,” one of them, a mustached man with dark hair, shouted. Dean grumbled and let go, and the man below him gasped in a breath. “Sir, you too, until we figure out what’s going on here.” 

 

“What’s going on here?” Dean echoed sharply. “I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

 

“He made the first move,” the man coughed in a much higher voice, pointing to Dean.

 

“Oh right, and you’re the innocent party here?”

 

“Is that true, young man?” the balding one demanded.

 

“Well yeah, but only because he --”

 

“Are we pressing charges, or not?” the mustached cop asked the grimy man while helping him up. Dean grimaced. Should he warn the cop that he should wash his hands after this ordeal was over? The attacker glared at Dean while cowering back with a swallow.

 

“No,” he gruffed. “Just some stupid kid looking for trouble.”

 

“Excuse me, I believe I’m the one with cuts and bruises,” Dean argued while pointing to himself. 

 

“The restaurant is going to press charges anyway. If you change your mind, nobody would blame you.”

 

Great, now they were straight-up ignoring him. “That broken glass was from him throwing me!”

 

“In self-defense,” the man finished. “I was in fear for my life.”

 

“You were in f-- oh wow. Okay.” Dean’s head rolled disbelievingly. 

 

“He did, after all, threaten to kill me.”

 

Both cops looked over at Dean, who clenched his jaw shut and peered into the man’s eyes with total contempt. He had never hated anyone so much in his life. Not Tessa, not Ms. Rosen, not even freaking Adolf Hitler. What could he tell them? 

 

He couldn’t out Lisa to these small town cops. Word would reach church so fast it would make his head spin, which wouldn’t be as bad if they didn’t find an excuse to blame victims for every sexual crime that scrolled across the evening news. Instead of support, she would be condemned for extramarital sex. Instead of help dealing with the aftermath, she would be expelled and her reputation tainted. 

 

All she ever asked for was his silence, and even though he was sure it would destroy him, he would continue to give it to her. She would be irate if he mentioned her, even if it was to avenge her. Their world wasn’t a separation of right and wrong. It was a power struggle. It was a board full of kings and queens that didn’t play fair, and kids like Lisa were merely pawns.

  
  


“You wanna say anything to that, boy?” the balding police officer prodded.

 

Dean shook his head. He had said too much already. It was clear that anything he said or did was being used against him, so he stood sore and motionless between his three opposers and awaited the next move.

 

The bathroom door slowly opened, and Samandriel Milton poked his head in. “Is everybody alright? I called 911 when I heard the commotion.”

 

Dean snapped his head around, the sudden motion and subsequent expression sending the young boy back a step. “Nice going, big mouth. You made it worse.”

 

* * *

 

One of the cops had long since popped his shoulder back in place, but the dull ache still made Dean nauseous as he adjusted his seated position atop his bed. The faint footsteps grew closer as he sat still, awaiting the inevitable. They came, then stopped, followed by a firm knock. Dean knew he didn’t need to verbally allow entry, so he remained silent as his dad ambled in, bringing an air of disappointment. He stood beside the bed, and Dean looked up at him with the least amount of anger he could muster.

 

“I hope you know that the only reason you’re not in jail,” John said, “is that you’re the pastor’s son. It would hurt our family name to have one of our boys behind bars. The cops know this. We came to an agreement.”

 

Dean darted his eyes to and fro, unsure of what his dad expected him to do with that information. “Thank you?” he settled on with a shrug that utilized his only good shoulder.

 

“You want to tell me why you got in a fight and threatened to kill that man?”

 

“No,” Dean replied too quickly.

 

“Look, son. I know you’re grown, but you can’t drag our family’s name through the mud. We are upstanding citizens in this town. We lead an example for people to follow. Now tell me, how are we supposed to reach our community with the gospel if we act no different than the world?”

 

“Dad, just trust me, okay? He’s a bad person. He’s the worst kind of person. He deserved it. I can’t tell you anything else, but… just take my word for it, okay?”

 

John smiled weakly. “Even so, Dean, we are to exemplify the Lord’s forgiveness to all.”

 

Dean buried his head in his hands. “Oh god,” he grumbled.

 

“Don’t take his name in vain, Dean Winchester.”

 

A headache began pulsing in his forehead. He rubbed his temples and shook away the ire simmering just below the surface. “Okay, dad.” It was a lost cause to argue over his dad’s faulty logic, and although he fully planned on explaining why someday, today wouldn’t be it. Not that his dad would listen, if it wasn’t a direct quote from scripture. Somewhere along the way, Dean had learned to choose his battles.

 

“You’ve gotta pay for the restaurant damages,” John continued in a disgustingly patient tone. “And you’re up for some community service.” Dean shielded his rolling eyes and testy exhale as he continued to rub his throbbing head. “Ask Bobby if you can work a few extra hours. You’re only there a couple days a week, anyhow.”

 

“Fine,” Dean replied as he dropped his hands onto his lap.

 

“Oh and Dean?” He glanced over to find his dad’s unsparingly condemning face. “Lose the attitude. It is written that a haughty spirit comes before a fall.”

 

Dean stood to his feet in an effort to stop the conversation. If he heard one more biblical reference that day, he might spontaneously combust into the hellfire he apparently deserved. “Are we done?”

 

John stepped toward the door. “Yes, we’re done.” He stopped with his fingers on the handle and turned back around. “I love you, son. You know that, right?”

 

Dean made sure to raise the eyebrow that wasn’t facing his father. “Yeah, dad. I know.”

 

With a short nod, John closed the door behind him and returned downstairs. Finally able to breathe again, Dean ran to his bed and collapsed on it face first. The hovering, the power trip, the spiritual control, it was suffocating. What would happen if his dad ever found out he liked boys? He shuddered at the thought, then reached under his pillow to tug out an issue of Busty Asian Beauties, which had been far too close to his father’s reach for comfort. 

 

And then he thought of Cas. He thought of everything the incubus could do with his hands and mouth. He remembered the cool slide of Cas’ scales across Dean’s skin and how it somehow still kept him warm. He thought about his delicious saliva, the venom he administered when Dean was too fidgety, and his unnatural strength. After such a horrible day, he had a few jitters he needed to get out. Pushing the skin mag back in its place, Dean tapped away at his phone, equal parts angsty and relieved when Cas picked up.

 

“Cas?” Dean said after a few seconds. It was then he realized he never taught the demon what to do when he answered the phone.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Get over here and make me forget about life for a while.”

 

A beat of silence passed. “I’ll be right there.”

 


	5. The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More trouble brews in the sanctuary, but it doesn't deter Dean from being, well... Dean. He plays with more fire by calling Cas at work, but isn't prepared for the spiritual ramifications of being the offering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's killing me to post chapters 5 and 6 separately. I am so, so sorry xD

Music Theory was canceled. No context, no explanation; just a runner delivering the abrupt news before class even started. Down the stairs they went, several teachers shooing Dean’s classmates away from the sanctuary when wandering eyes edged too close. The eighth graders from Pre-Algebra joined them in the great exodus, making it clear that Dean’s class was not the only one being dismissed -- they were clearing out the entire main church building.

 

This was about getting people away from the sanctuary.

 

Suspicion arose in his gut. Once at the bottom of the steps, he tried to sneak a peek into the sanctuary through the narrow vestibule window. Brother Ketch blocked the view into the sanctuary, aware of the students’ curiosity and having none of it. On his way out the door, Dean decided on the unspeakable: He was going to pull rank on the teacher. 

 

“What’s up, Ketch?” he asked as he turned on his heel. The dark haired man sullenly adjusted his stance in front of the sanctuary window, glaring at Dean disapprovingly.

 

“I believe you have a class to attend, Mr. Winchester.”

 

“Your class, in fact,” he replied with raised brows. “But you’re here, not there. And while the cat’s away, the mice will play.” He shrugged playfully.

 

“Ms. Rosen will substitute,” Ketch clarified in his posh accent. “The ‘cat’, as it were, will remain here until our little incident inside the auditorium is resolved.”

 

Dean hummed curiously. “And you know what you’re guarding?”

 

“Your father simply told me to stand watch, so the students wouldn’t go in and be frightened.”

 

The gut feeling eating at Dean was validated. It was as he thought. “Frightened of what?”

 

“I’m not authorized to --”

 

“Oh, I know you’re not. But you do know, don’t you? He told you what’s in there?”

 

For a split second, unadulterated fear shone in Ketch’s eyes. He quickly recomposed himself and cleared his throat, standing up extra straight.

 

“I’m the pastor’s kid, you know.” There it was. Dean just laid down his best card. Typically, it only worked once or twice a year, if even that, so he used it sparingly. But this answer, he must know.

 

“Yes… well…”

 

“Is there an exorcism going on in there, or not?”

 

Ketch’s stone cold glance turned uneasy once again. He looked like he wanted to ask how Dean knew and scold him for meddling in business that wasn’t his own, but he yielded. “Yes.”

 

Dean let out a long sigh. Fleeting as the conversation at Biggerson’s was regarding the possibility of an exorcism, it sat dormant in a quiet corner of his mind. He was hoping it would stay there. But of course, it couldn’t be that simple. 

 

“What happened this time?”

 

“The wooden cross hanging from your father’s pulpit…”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

“...It turned upside down.”

 

Pursing his lips, Dean fidgeted with his sleeves as he once again tried to look around Ketch. This time, he didn’t stop Dean from peeking in. The cross was, indeed, flipped. In the front row sat his father, watching silently as a priest faced the offending pulpit with an open passage and outstretched crucifix.

 

“See ya around, Ketch.” The Brit gave a curt nod and resumed his post, the priest’s mumbled recitations from beyond the door the only other sound besides Dean’s footsteps. 

 

He wanted to be afraid like his teacher was, but it would only be another lie stacked atop his life’s supply of them. No, he wasn’t shocked, or surprised, or scared. He was irritated at how the demon got there.

 

Knocking around a water bottle? Classic prank. He’d give the demon a seven out of ten for fear factor, but about a four for originality. It gave John Winchester a scare, which was a win in Dean’s book, but the source of the portal still irked him. Demon rules seriously sucked. It was like the annoying aunt who would invite herself to spend the night after everyone else at Thanksgiving lunch left hours ago.

 

Where was the demon customer complaint line?

 

The rest of the students continued on in ignorant bliss, so Dean tucked it all away and trudged on. He focused on his most prioritized tasks, both inside and outside of school, which included Lisa’s immediate need for birth control. Dean didn’t pass her in between classes, so he pulled out his phone halfway through English.

 

**< < Where are you?**

 

He glanced at the wall clock. Lunchtime was soon.

 

**> > At home**

 

Dean felt the flat box in his hoodie pocket. He needed to get this pill to her, and quick.

 

**< < I’ll be over in a few**

 

**> > Don’t let my mom see you**

 

Although it escaped him why her mom would care, since she was usually too high to even form sentences, he yielded to Lisa’s wish. Ms. Rosen was at it with the substitute teacher filler lesson, and asked Dean to use the word “capitulate” in a sentence. He cracked a smile. She flashed a face full of worry in anticipation at what new horrors a day of dealing with Dean Winchester would yield.

 

“Capitulate,” he said loudly. “Chuck wished the lady would capitulate after all his advances.”

 

Ms. Rosen turned bright pink. She faced the whiteboard, erased the word, and wrote another one in its place. Dean smirked as a couple of classmates shot him bewildered looks.

 

“Was that an adequate use of the word, Ms. Rosen?”

 

“We’re moving on now,” she squawked. “Who can use the word ‘mellifluous’ in a sentence?”

 

Dean casually raised his hand. Ms. Rosen looked across the room, avoiding eye contact with him. “Anyone besides Mr. Winchester?” The rest of the room had fallen deathly quiet. She sighed in defeat. “Go ahead, Mr. Winchester.”

 

“Chuck’s voice was mellifluous to her ears.”

 

Ms. Rosen’s eyes bugged out of her head as she let out a deliberate cough and erased the word. “Do you happen to know any other names, Mr. Winchester?”

 

“It’s just a name,” Dean shrugged offhandedly. “What’s the big deal?”

 

“I’d like for you to use another name, please.”

 

Dean cocked a defiant brow. She responded by scribbling another series of letters on the board, this time barely legible. She whipped back around with the sternest face she could muster.

 

“Lambent,” she blurted, so her voice wouldn’t shake. “Mr. Talley, would you like to have a turn?”

 

Jake looked over at Dean, who tilted his head tellingly. “No ma’am,” the senior replied as Dean jotted something down.

 

Ms. Rosen let out a huff. “What about Miss Harvelle?”

 

Jo looked up from her doodling. “Huh?”

 

Ms. Rosen whacked the board with her pencil, then jumped back in fright at her own force. 

 

Dean slid a piece of paper to the edge of his desk, at which Jo leaned down to read closer with squinted eyes. She read his rushed handwriting with great difficulty. “‘No eyes… were as radiantly lambent… as… Mr. Shurley’s?’ Ew.” She sat upright and scowled at the poor choice of sentence she had been somehow compelled to read.

 

“And that’s it for today,” Ms. Rosen announced. 

 

Dean shot up and disappeared from the classroom before she could ask to have a word with him. It wasn’t often he utilized his natural gift to be a total asshole to teachers, and he chuckled to himself as he bolted out the door. Ms. Rosen was far too easy of a target, and he needed a distraction from all the drama, so he took the catharsis where he could get it. 

 

He fell back into the driver’s seat of his dad’s 1967 Chevy Impala and turned the key in the ignition. Students poured past him as the engine roared to life, and he tried to avoid Sam’s confused gaze as he rolled out of the church parking lot. If there was one person he would absolutely suck at lying to, it’d be his brother. Although he hadn’t told Sam any of his deepest, darkest secrets, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Sam already knew at least one of them. If he did, he was keeping quiet about it.

 

Dean pulled into Lisa’s cul de sac. He parked near the main road so his car couldn’t be seen from her house, to honor Lisa’s wish about her mom seeing him. The place was mediocre at best, with neighbors that cared even less about their lawns than the Braeden’s did. Leaves lay un-raked, litter collected in the ditches from careless drivers-by, and faded, worn out children’s toys scattered between the four houses so it was unclear who had kids and who was just tolerating the mess.

 

Sneaking around the back, Dean chanced a peek into the Florida room. The screen was peeling up in some places, giving him an unobstructed view of Lisa’s mother strewn out across a wicker chair. Mrs. Braeden mumbled to herself in a bathrobe, hair in a messy bun with a straw limp in her white powdered fingers. Careful not to give himself away, he backed off slowly and trudged through tall grass to the front of the house. 

 

Although he could knock, he decided against it. He looked keenly at the pink drapes in the window right above the front door, then threw a pebble at it. It hit the metal framing and fell to the ground with a soft thud. Dean repeated the action with a different stone, this time hitting the glass with a loud clang. A streak of dread crossed him when a car pulled into the cul de sac, but the driver ignored him as they drove into the driveway across from the Braedens’.

 

“Dean,” came a hushed hiss from above. Lisa was waving from inside the window. He started to smile but dropped it when he met her somber face.

 

“Hey,” he stage whispered, digging the box out of his pocket. “I’ve got the uh… the --”

 

“Morning after pill?” she said it for both of them.

 

Dean nodded. “Want me to throw it?”

 

“No, I’ll come get it.”

 

Dean chewed on his lip as he waited for Lisa to descend the stairs. He ignored one of the neighborhood kids getting on the plastic hobby horse in her front yard. When Lisa opened the creaky front door, Dean immediately noticed her swollen, red eyes and gaunt cheekbones. He handed her the box of Plan B, which she promptly hid in her pajama pants pocket.

 

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

 

Her plate of mostly poked-at food came to mind. “When was the last time you ate more than four fries?” She shrugged at him. “Lisa, come on. Tell me.”

 

“Saturday, maybe? Or Friday. I don’t know.”

 

“Babe, let me go get you something,” Dean offered with a wave of his hand as he turned to leave.

 

“No, don’t. You should get back to class.”

 

“You know I don’t give two craps about class. You’re hungry.”

 

“If you’re not there, your dad’s gonna find out, and he’ll start asking questions.” Lisa angled her head, eyes fixed on Dean’s cheek. “Oh my god, is that a cut? Did somebody punch you?”

 

Dean exhaled and pursed his lips. It wasn’t even that bad -- just a small bruise and a scab where the biggest piece of glass sliced him. “It’s not important. Do you want food or not?”

 

“No, I want you to tell me who hurt you.”

 

“Same fucker who hurt you.”

 

Lisa stepped back as a breath escaped her. “What?”

 

“Saw him in the bathroom and threw a few punches. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

 

Lisa pointed at the same place on her face. “And he got you there?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, offering up his palms in an effort to end the conversation. She’d lose her shit if he told her about his dislocated shoulder and meet-cute with two cops. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me what you need.”

 

“You’re going to be late.”

 

“I’m already in trouble for getting in a fight. At this point, being late for class will be the most upright thing I’ve done lately.”

 

Seemingly at war with her thoughts, Lisa bounced on the ball of her foot, brows furrowed. Then she looked up and forced a pained smile. “Will you get me a taco?”

 

“Hell freakin’ yeah, I’ll get you a taco. I’ll get you a hundred tacos if you want.”

 

She took a timid, barefoot step onto the scratchy, cement front step. “Can I go with you?”

 

“Of course,” Dean answered immediately. He started to extend his hand, but Lisa didn’t take it as she pitter-pattered down the cold steps. She had to walk a ways to get to the car but wasn’t bothered by it. Dean didn’t question her lack of shoes or sudden desire to leave the house; he just got her in and drove.

 

* * *

 

After the taco run, Dean decided to ditch school for the rest of the day. He was over a hundred percent done with today anyway, and after a taste of freedom during lunch hour, it was all over. 

 

Once he dropped Lisa off at her place, he took off to the countryside, racing Baby down one of the winding roads and relishing the way she threw him to the side with every sharp turn. He tested her agility at every corner, time and again breathless at how she rode. Before his dad started letting him drive her to school, Dean didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about a car. She was the love of his life.

 

Their speedy rendezvous was interrupted by Dean’s phone ringing. “Hello?”

 

“Dean,” his mother’s voice muffled across the static. He let off the gas, coasting to a more acceptable speed. “You need to come home, sweetie.”

 

Worry overtook him. “What’s wrong? Is it Sam?”

 

“No, baby,” his mom assured him. “Your teachers told your dad you weren’t at your last few classes.”

 

Dean exhaled sharply, throwing himself against the seat board. “Well, if that’s all --”

 

“There’s more,” she went on hesitantly. “Allegedly, someone from church saw you driving a girl around.”

 

Dean pulled over and ran his fingers through his hair. Of fucking course someone would find a way to drag him for nothing. “So?”

 

“You know I don’t mind it,” she explained. “But your dad is so invested in your reputation. You know how he is about couples being alone together.”

 

Fuck that. If Dean had a girlfriend, his mother would know. “We’re not a couple, Mom.”

 

“I know, Dean. Please come home and talk to your father.”

 

“Bye,” he grumbled before hanging up. He bumped his head against the steering wheel multiple times, hoping it would awaken him from this nightmare. Dean could handle many things. Irritating teachers; punks waiting to get punched; his own misled, pious father. But his mother… She was one of the only people who still had any real influence on him. And his dad had undeniably put his mom up to calling him. Dean would put real, hard-earned money on it.

 

Right as he was about to put the car back in drive, a shout from outside stopped him. His eyes flew open when he realized it was one of the asshats from the police department. With a long shake of his head, he rolled the window down and put on his best poker face as the cop approached from her patrol car.

 

“Thought I’d give you a chance to finish that phone conversation before knocking on your window,” the woman said, polite but authoritative.

 

“Thanks, I think,” Dean replied. He did a double take. It was Jody Mills. Wonderful. “Is this the part where you ask if I know why you pulled me over, sheriff?”

 

“If you insist,” she said, leaning down so they could talk face to face like any old traffic stop. “Or I could just tell you. You were speeding, Mr. Winchester.”

 

Dean blinked. “I haven’t given you my license yet.”

 

“You don’t think I know the pastor’s boy when I see him? I remember when you were born, kid.”

 

Biting down the urge to apologize, Dean smiled instead. Her position as sheriff was new, but her presence in town was not. He certainly knew who she was, but they never had the distinguished pleasure of rubbing elbows before now. Sure, Dean sped -- a lot -- but cops didn’t frequent rural stretches of road. It had kept him ticketless up to this point.

 

“That so? Then I’ll just say it. I’ve had a pretty bad twenty four hours.”

 

“That’s understandable, but you were really toeing the line on reckless driving. There’s a ticket with your name on it back in my cruiser.”

 

Dean thumbed at the steering wheel and looked down worryingly. “Is there any way you could like, not? I’m not going to give excuses, ‘cause none of ‘em are gonna be good enough. All I’m saying is, I’ve been trying to go by the book and today I cut loose, and it happened to be on the road you’re patrolling.”

 

“By the book,” Sheriff Mills repeated with one raised brow. “Kind of like how beating that man half to death in a public restroom was by the book?”

 

Dean deflated, offering the last remnants of a begging look.

 

“Still keeping quiet about that? Okay, Dean. Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m giving you a verbal warning, understand? And I don’t want to see you going twenty over on these roads ever again, or I’ll write you a real ticket.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Dean gasped, relief washing over him. He held the bridge of his nose as he hung his head, catching his breath as Sheriff Mills walked back to her patrol car. If he had to take a ticket home to the hellhole already waiting for him, he might’ve burst a blood vessel.

 

* * *

 

John Winchester stared a hole into Dean as they sat at the empty dinner table. It was nine kinds of awkward and tense as hell. The constant drip of the water filter did nothing to take away from the interrogative nature of their meeting. If this silent treatment was supposed to increase the suspense, it was working. 

 

Sam rode home with their dad and had long since retreated to his room to avoid the impending storm. Mom was outside, salting the driveway for the expected snow overnight. It was just Dean and his dad. There was no escape.

 

“First of all,” John counted on his fingers. “Ms. Rosen said you made her feel extremely uncomfortable in class today.”

 

Dean slammed his lips together to keep from breaking a smile.

 

John held up two fingers. “Secondly, you left school at lunchtime. Sammy saw you go.”

 

That snitch, Dean thought as he let out an indignant huff.

 

“Don’t be mad at your brother. I asked him because at the time I was worried something had happened to you.” Dean rolled his tongue in his cheek as his dad spoke. “That is, until I got a call from one of our esteemed members who said they saw you driving a girl around town.”

 

“Getting tacos,” Dean finished. “We were getting tacos.”

 

“Alone.”

 

Dean splayed his fingers across the table, a gentler alternative to what he really wanted to do to the malleable wood. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Yes, you did something wrong, Dean. And I want you to tell me what it was.”

 

“‘For I was hungry, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and you gave me drink’,” Dean recited loudly. “She was hungry, Dad. I bought her a taco. Did your spy tell you that part?”

 

“The person you’re calling a spy told me you were alone in my car with a woman that isn’t your wife,” John resumed without a thought to the verse Dean quoted. “And that she was dressed immodestly.”

 

Dean peered at his dad disbelievingly. “Immodest? Are you kidding me? They couldn’t tell you her name, I bet. But they saw her spaghetti straps. ‘Cause that’s all that matters.”

 

“I don’t appreciate you taking the holy word out of context for your own selfish desires. I don’t suppose you’re going to disclose the name of your lady friend and what activities you engaged in while in my vehicle?”

 

“No,” Dean snapped. At least they passed Sandra freakin’ Dee too quickly for them to see Lisa’s face. “Absolutely not. And it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. And I don’t appreciate you assuming the worst about me, just because some tattle-tale wanted to score brownie points with you.”

 

“So we’ve got disrespect for your elders, skipping school,” John raised a third finger, “and sneaking off with a girl. Anything else you wanna tell me about your day?”

 

“No sir,” Dean gritted out, fists now shaking on the table.

 

“You talked to Bobby yet about working extra hours?”

 

“I’m going to, tonight.”

 

“Good. Get as many as you can, because you’ve lost your social privileges.”

 

“My social… What does that even mean?”

 

John rose from his seat. “You go to school and church, you work, and you do community service. That’s your life until you can learn to abstain from all appearance of evil. No going out with friends, and nobody over here to hang out with.” He clumped out of the kitchen, leaving Dean to deal with the aftermath.

 

He stared blankly into space, wondering whether putting a hole in the wall would make him feel better or not. He needed to put a hole in something, that much was certain. If he let himself dwell on his father’s words, he might actually break every plate in his mother’s cabinet. And just for a moment, he considered being completely honest.

 

Just for a moment, he considered chasing his father down and screaming in his face that he was bisexual, just to see what rise he could get out of him, after everything else from today. John would stare at him with bugged eyes, stammer something about him being an abomination, and then get angry. He’d yell and get physical and send him to his room. 

 

Behind closed doors, his dad would ramble about him being dramatic and that they couldn’t have a son “like that” tarnishing the family name, and Dean would punch him hard enough to dislocate his jaw. Then he’d run away. He’d take the car keys and drive as far as he could on one tank of gas, then fill up and drive some more.

 

Although the thought was tempting, John’s lecture had made him late for work as it was. Dean scraped the chair across the floor in hopes of leaving scratches and stomped up to his room. He threw on a work shirt that already had a stubborn grease stain, drank the rest of a water bottle that had been on his nightstand for who knows how long, and shuffled downstairs. A knot grew in his stomach when he saw his mom standing by the door with a set of keys.

 

“Your dad asked me to give you these for the next couple of weeks,” she said stiffly, as if the words were being forced out of her.

 

He watched the keys drop into his palm. “These are the van keys.”

 

Mary smiled weakly and tilted her head in sympathy. “He’s grounding you from his car, too.”

 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and grumbled out a guttural exhale. “I’ve gotta take the friggin’ mom-mobile everywhere?”

 

“I’m sorry, honey.”

 

He curled his fingers around the keys. They clinked under his grip, and he stuffed them into his pocket before he could chuck them across the room. He searched his mother’s face for comfort. 

 

She dared not speak against her husband, for several reasons that did not include her own free will. She was supposed to be the church-wide example of the perfect wife; she was in a position that demanded absolute compliance. But Dean saw quiet defiance in her eyes. He knew she didn’t agree with everything her husband did or said, and the thought calmed him marginally.

 

“Mom,” Dean said quietly, hesitantly. “If I disappointed you, would you still love me?”

 

Caught by surprise, she let out a short laugh. “Where’s this coming from, Dean?”

 

“I dunno,” he lied. “I’m not really turning out the way you guys were hoping.”

 

“That’s not true. I’m very proud of you.”

 

“Yeah, but what if you weren’t?” There was a line on how far he could push this without sounding like he was hiding something, and he didn’t want to chance it. “What if I turned out to be something Dad doesn’t want?”

 

Mary looked confused but tried to keep on a smile. “Then I would love you anyway.”

 

Dean looked down and nodded, thoroughly unconvinced. 

 

“Growing up is a long process,” she continued. “You’re going to make mistakes. We raised you to always do your best, and you still do. That about you won’t change. But the choices we make along the way mold us into the people we are later in life.”

 

“What if my choices have nothing to do with it?” he cut in. “What if it was just part of who I am? What if… What if I was born a certain way and you and dad didn’t like it?”

 

Mary’s face shifted slightly. She gently held his arm. “Son, is there something you need to tell me?”

 

Heavy footsteps eased into earshot from the back door, and Dean moved out of her touch. “No. I gotta go.” Grasping for the knob, he hurried to leave before he could make further eye contact with his dad. The thought made him so nervous he felt sick, so he pushed past his mom and disappeared out the front door.

 

The van was wide, too quiet, and so far off the ground, Dean thought he might hit the stoplights. It was one of those horrible Volkswagen vans from the 60s, dubbed the Mystery Machine by anyone at church unfortunate enough to lay eyes on it. The day John set the keys to the Impala on Dean’s nightstand was a blessed day indeed, and today a cursed one. He rolled up to Bobby’s shop, taking his usual parking spot. He peered into the window to see Bobby shaking his head at him in. 

 

The bell jingled as Dean burst through the auto parts shop door. “Heya, Bobby.”

 

The gruff, trucker-hat-wearing old man couldn’t give a rat’s ass that Dean used his first name, but tardiness was another thing. He jutted a pointed finger at the wall clock. “Well look who decided to show up! And in the hippie-mobile, no less.”

 

Dean dragged his lip through his teeth. “Sorry,” he offered.

 

“That’s it? ‘Sorry’? You ain’t spillin’ the beans on the backstory?”

 

He really,  _ really  _ didn’t feel like getting into this. Bobby’s shop was supposed to be a reprieve from the hell house he called home. “The backstory is, I’m the family disappointment.”

 

“Join the friggin’ club,” Bobby mumbled while taking a seat behind the cash register. “Got an oil change out back for ya.”

 

Dean’s spirits lifted. Being alone with a machine and some tools would take his mind off things. It always did. 

 

He played a staticy rock station on the portable radio as he worked, humming along to Motorhead and clearing his head of everything from the past 24 hours. The smell of motor oil was like aromatherapy to him, and he allowed the steady, dark stream pouring into the tray to hypnotize him as the minutes dragged on. When he finished, he found himself hoping Bobby had another task for him.

 

To his dismay, Bobby was putting on his coat when he came back in. Looks like his thoughts would be his only company tonight, after all. 

 

“Mrs. Talley’s picking up her car in thirty minutes. Think you can manage the place for the rest of the night?”

 

“You’re letting me close?” Dean half smiled at Bobby’s nod. “Wait, how do I lock the place up if you’ve got the only key?”

 

“I don’t anymore, ya idgit,” Bobby retorted as he plopped a shiny new key onto the counter. “Got it made last night. I expect you to balance the register to one fifty every night and put what’s left over in the money bag. Just drop it into the safe before you leave. And for the love of all that’s holy, sweep the place before you go -- You’ve tracked in all sorts of crap from the garage. If I’m forking out two dollars extra an hour on you, I expect you to work for it. Now try not to blow the place up before I come in tomorrow morning.”

 

Not even waiting for a response, Bobby stomped off with a huff, the bell hanging in the door the only delicate sound to grace his departure. Dean was left staring at the key in deafening silence. Did he just get promoted?

 

Well, that took care of the subject of more hours. Plus, with a raise, he would be able to pay his dues even faster. He began thinking of all the things he could do with a little extra cash. His dad would insist on him saving it and throw in a weak-ass argument about seminary school. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought. He could buy himself a new coat, instead of the oversized leather one he kept borrowing. Or maybe he could buy Cas something. What on earth could he buy an incubus?

 

Dean unlocked his phone and hovered his index finger over Cas’ name. He really shouldn’t. He was at work. Cas looked a little… odd compared to humans, and he couldn’t risk him being seen. Especially with the preacher’s son. The thought made a smile curl up Dean’s face. What a scandal it would be for him and a demon to be caught at work in a compromising position. How sick was he for such a foul thought to cause his heart to race and dick to awaken? 

 

Semi-public sex always did hold an oddly satisfying appeal. Bathrooms, the church basement… Dean wasn’t picky. Bobby’s shop, however, was breaking new ground. Anyone could walk in, at any time.

 

He pressed “call” and listened to the phone ring. One, twice. An answer.

 

“Hello, human.”

 

“Name’s Dean, jackass.”

 

“Don’t give an incubus your name, little human. It only gives them power over you.”

 

“I like it when you display your power over me.”

 

“Very well. Are you in need of my services?”

 

Dean considered it for a moment. But then he smiled. He had a better idea. “I wish you could smell me now, Cas. I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about you.”

 

There was a beat of silence from the other end. “Are you summoning me?”

 

“I’m doin’ phone sex with you,” Dean explained, the mood slightly ruined. “It’s sexy. Your turn.”

 

“I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

 

“You’re a sex demon, man. You’re loaded. Just say something you’d say if I was there.”

 

“Your… pubic hairs… are… meticulously manicured.”

 

Dean threw his head back with a sigh. He fell into the chair behind the front counter and picked at one of the rubber bands peeking out from underneath the cash drawer. “You don’t know that... you’re not even here.”

 

“You said to say something I’d say if I was --”

 

“Just,” Dean interrupted, holding up his hand even though Cas couldn’t see. “Tell me something you want to do to me.”

 

There was another second of quiet. “You want to know what I want?”

 

The tone was genuine, not suggestive at all, but it was a total turn-on. “Yeah Cas, I wanna know what you want. If you could have me any way you wanted, how would it be?”

 

“What I want is forbidden to my kind.”

 

Dean’s eyes darkened. Forbidden fantasies? Oh hell yes. “Tell me.”

 

Cas cleared his throat, as if nervous of vocalizing his thoughts. “I’d have you on your knees, sucking on my cock. I’d hold you down as I fuck your face, not letting you up for air until I’ve spilled every drop of myself down your throat.”

 

A blaze of heat grew between Dean’s legs. It had been far too long since he had a cock in his mouth, and the thought of it belonging to Cas had the situation in his pants rapidly stirring. The combination of envisioning glowing eyes looking down at Dean while he sucked Cas off, and knowing it was a naughty pipe dream, had him unbuttoning and unzipping himself faster than he ever had. 

 

“Fucking Christ, Cas. Keep talking.”

 

“I would fuck your throat raw. It would burn as I bury my cock deep, and tears would be streaming down your face from the lack of air. I would lay waste to you, claiming you with my come. When I finally pull out of your mouth, without a single drop left to give, and your lips are swollen from me pounding past them… Only then, will you know how fully I own you. You will be all. Mine.”

 

Dean wrapped his hand around his shaft and jerked himself hard and fast, the images flooding his mind more than enough to get him through tonight. But he wanted more. “Yeah, yeah Cas, that’s the shit. Tell me more.”

 

“And then,” Cas continued with a swallow, “I would like for you to make me yours. Spread me out beneath you, sink yourself all the way inside of me. Fuck me over and over, until I swell with your seed and beg for mercy. And then keep going. Claim me as your own. Never let me forget, for one moment, who I belong to.”

 

Dean breathed harshly against the phone, cock red and leaking. Two long strokes later, he spurted into his fist, moaning his gratification into the still air. He kept moving his hand until his shaft grew too sensitive to touch, then leaned over the counter in exhaustion. “Cas, oh my fucking god. The things you do to me.”

 

Cas didn’t speak back immediately, and at first, Dean worried that he might’ve offended him by getting off on words alone. But a moment later, Cas responded. “The feeling is mutual, lovely human.”

 

“Huh?” Dean puffed, still trying to catch his breath. He wiped himself off with a tissue under the counter. “Wait, did you touch yourself, too?”

 

“It doesn’t have the same effect as when a human does it to themselves, but --”

 

“But you touched yourself?”

 

“Well, I… Yes.”

 

Dean grinned. “You dirty bastard.” He balled up the tissue and threw it at the trash bin. Miss.

 

“I suppose that makes two of us.”

 

With a blissed-out laugh, Dean hobbled over to the discarded tissue and put it in the trash. “You wanna come see me at work? No funny business, just a visit. I’m at Bobby’s shop. You know where that is?”

 

“No, but if you’re there often enough to leave a trail, I can use your scent to find you.”

 

“Alright, see ya.” Dean hung up, a warm feeling tugging at his heart. He leaned on the counter, palming his chin and lost himself in thoughts of Cas. How adorably foreign he was to human idiosyncrasies, and yet, how they somehow made it work. He thought about how interesting and beautiful Cas was, and how impossible it was that anything could come of their… whatever this was. The absurdity of it all, however, only fueled Dean’s resolve. He liked this strange being, and he wondered if there was any chance of the feeling being returned.

 

Dean collected himself enough to zip and button himself back up well before Mrs. Talley strolled in. She was all business, with a smart pantsuit and short haircut. Her heels clicked against the hard entryway floor, and she raised a curious brow to see Dean alone.

 

“Mrs. Talley,” he greeted with a smile. “You do something different with your hair?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s getting too long. My stylist is on vacation and I’m about this close to pulling out my husband’s clippers myself.” She held her index and thumb a quarter of an inch apart to illustrate her dying patience with her hair length.

 

“I could do it for ya,” he offered jokingly. “Let’s see what I got here.” He dug through the drawer Bobby kept beneath the cash register, fingers lost in the sea of pens, rubber bands, and the occasional spark plug. “Here’s some scissors that are probably dull. And,” he pulled out a sharp, jaw-shaped clip, “I dunno what this is, but it looks effective.”

 

“That’s a staple remover,” she laughed. “And it would be effective if I had hair long enough to texturize.”

 

Dean chuckled and closed the drawer. The moving shadow in the corner of the room almost made him jump, but he kept his focus on Mrs. Talley as a pair of glowing blue eyes materialized. “Let me just… go get your key.”

 

Hoping against all probability that Cas would keep himself out of sight, Dean turned around to the back wall, where Bobby had installed dozens of cubby spaces to hold customers’ keys during service work. He found Mrs. Talley’s, accompanied by Bobby’s copy of her receipt. 

 

“Bobby leave you alone for the night?” she inquired as he handed her the car key.

 

Dean grew increasingly nervous as Cas wandered the aisles. “Yes, in fact, he made me a key so I could be his closer.”

 

“Congratulations,” she exclaimed as her eyes widened. “Keyholder looks nice on a resume.”

 

He hummed in agreement and shrugged. Cas reached for something on the top shelf that immediately started toppling over, but Dean kept his gaze forward. “Bobby jokes sometimes about me taking over this place when he retires.”

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Dean cocked his head. “I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest. My dad being a preacher, I never really had much of a choice apart from ministry.”

 

She smiled understandingly. “Everybody has a choice. I was supposed to be the one to take up my dad’s law office. Well, obviously that didn’t happen.”

 

“Nope, you started your own business instead, and now you’re the head of a company.”

 

Mrs. Talley winked and pointed at Dean, case in point. “If you don’t want to be a preacher, don’t. It’s a calling, not a legacy. If you don’t want to own an auto parts shop either, well, you won’t have to do that either. You can go your own way, Dean.”

 

Dean smiled tightly as the pile Cas touched began to collapse. “Okay, Stevie Nicks.”

 

Thwack-thwack-thwack, thump. Three bags of ice melt fell onto Cas’ head and sank the rest of the way to the floor. Dean swallowed as Mrs. Talley turned her head, but Cas ducked just in time. He rolled his eyes when she glanced back at him.

 

“Those bags, ha,” he chuckled. “They never want to stack more than two high.”

 

Mrs. Talley seemed content with the explanation. “Tell your folks I said hi, Dean.”

 

“I will,” he replied with a nod. He decided to throw in something righteous for good measure, just to balance out the talk of rebelling against his father’s plan for his life, not to mention the sex demon hiding behind a pile of salt. “See you on Sunday?”

 

“You know it,” she answered as she turned to leave.

 

As soon as the door closed behind her, Dean jumped out of his chair and through the swing door Bobby installed in the counter. Cas remained motionless in an aisle, staring at the salt bags. Dean stuffed them back on the top shelf and coated his fingers in ice melt dust in the process. He took a gander at Cas, trying to gauge his comfort level. He looked absolutely mortified.

 

“Not every day you get invited to a client’s workplace,” Dean guessed, rubbing the dust onto his jeans.

 

“That is an accurate assessment,” Cas responded, eyeing everything around him with skepticism. 

 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking you over. I know ‘just talking’ isn’t your usual gig.”

 

“I enjoy our visits,” he said sincerely. “No matter the content thereof.”

 

Dean blinked at the unexpected confession. This didn’t sound at all like the overweening, work-absorbed incubus that took him as an offering at the teen lock-in. But then again, Cas did just admit to mutual masturbation, so there was that.

 

“You mean that?”

 

Cas finally met Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

 

“Gee Cas, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were catchin’ some feels.”

 

Cas tilted his head, the figure of speech taking a moment to translate. “Would you say you’re ‘catching some feels’, as well, human?”

 

A small smile tugging at his cheeks, Dean felt suddenly exposed. He couldn’t let himself do this. Cas wasn’t even human. Their meeting was supposed to be one and done. But Dean felt drawn to the creature from the moment they met. Though he had no clue whether Cas felt the same way, and it hurt a little to think that he didn’t, he couldn’t help the things he felt when they were together. Cas was captivating, exciting, and sometimes even funny. Dean’s heart swelled. He was so fucked.

 

“I’d say so,” he said softly. One of his legs twisted around nervously, a decoy for what he really wanted: a big wet kiss and a foolish confession of actually caring about him. “I like hangin’ out with you.”

 

The demon’s iridescent black scales contrasted beautifully against the fine snow beginning to fall outside the shop window. “No one has ever conjured me without wanting sex,” Cas confessed, eyes dropping to the floor.

 

Dean’s heart sank. “That’s kinda lame. You’re a pretty neat person. Don’t get me wrong, you’re good. Like,  _ really  _ good. The best I’ve ever had. But I like the other parts of you, too.”

 

Slowly, Cas’ glowing eyes met Dean’s emerald ones once more. Dean’s brows furrowed as he studied Cas’ expression. Something about the look in his eyes had changed. As if the sex-ridden, lustful curtain dropped, and he could see the vulnerable, multifaceted creature underneath.

 

At the lack of Cas’ response, Dean dropped the subject. “Wanna come sit down?” He motioned towards the counter, and his visitor perched himself on the edge like a hawk. “Okay now, if anyone comes in, you gotta hide. Understand?”

 

“I’m older than the first Winchesters to settle in the New World,” the demon graveled. “Of course I know to hide.”

 

Dean pouted. “How old are you?”

 

“Very,” came the vague response.

 

Carrying on a conversation with an incubus was up there as one the strangest things Dean’s ever done. Sure, he had swallowed a goldfish when his church bus got the most visitors and licked a hairy jawbreaker on a dare, but this was different. They had no audience to cheer them on; no guidance that they were doing it wrong. This was all new. 

 

Even so, there were a few things Dean had to know right off the bat. Before he did anything stupid or grew too attached. Wide open gaps where missing information was supposed to go. Like spaces on a fill-in-the-blank question, but with more spaces than words.

 

“What happens if you say my name?”

 

Cas shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just another step to total bondship between a human and incubus.”

 

Dean took his seat behind the desk, and Cas turned to face him. “What are the other steps?”

 

“The first one,” Cas said on an exhale, “is consenting to be an offering.”

 

Startled into a straighter posture, Dean glared at the demon. “You mean like, what I did? That bonded me to you?”

 

“Partially.”

 

Dean’s muscles constricted into a panic. Words like  _ total bondship _ were scary as hell. It wasn’t like he expected an incubus using a human’s name to have rainbow-and-unicorn-level consequences, per se, but he didn’t sign up for this, either.

 

“The hell does that mean, Cas? Fuck, did I sign my life away when I agreed to have sex with you?”

 

“Not your life,” Cas countered. “Your soul.”

 

Dean collapsed against the chair. “Oh, is that all? I hear those are actually worth something, you know. So whatever crazy purgatory stuff I’ve got ahead of me for getting dicked down by a friggin’ sex demon, you better lay it on me.”

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“The hell it is! I like boys and my dad’s a homophobic preacher. You don’t think that shit’s complicated? Just spit it out, I can handle it.”

 

Cas glanced at the wall clock. “How much time do you have?”

 

“Until seven o’clock. Explain it to me, Lucy.”

 

“I don’t understand that ref--”

 

“Cas, I swear I will drink holy water and next time I ejaculate into your mouth --”

 

“Alright, fine. But I’m not supposed to be telling you, so don’t repeat it.”

  
Dean settled in his seat, mentally preparing himself for the long talk ahead. His life was a chaos of exorcisms, secrets, and lies; and now this? Raised in a religious household, he knew the spiritual realm was complicated, and always suspected it was more so than he was led to believe. With his soul now in the balance, it was doubtless going to be a doozy. But who else did he have to blame but himself, for being the offering?

 

And so, he braced himself as the incubus opened his mouth to speak.


	6. The Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas explains some of the complexities of incubus work. Twelve days later, Dean is still processing the unsettling truths he has learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 at last! Can't wait to see your choice of descriptors for some of the stuff that happens here. I have some chapter warnings for this one, which are below, if you'd like to be warned. If not, skip that part and enjoy!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> Homophobia Like Whoa  
> Child abuse  
> Violence  
> Dean Is Not Okay

The next two weeks were fairly uneventful, which was a massive improvement for Dean. The less trouble he got into, the more time he had for work and community service. And the less he had to think about the possessed church building. 

 

Not that he could discuss it with anyone else. On the one occasion Dean brought it up to Ketch, the teacher crossed his arms and left without a word. Of course, John kept quiet about it. Dean couldn’t deny the smugness the whole situation afforded him. For once, his dad was the uncomfortable one, and it was kind of awesome to watch.

 

The other reason for their collective silence could also be attributed to the harvest festival. In their culture, Halloween was hardly discussed, except to be rebuked. Instead, the church engaged in a fall celebration involving snot-nosed kids, cheesy games, and more candy than was humanly possible to consume. It was dull as all get-out, and by the end of the night, Dean was actually looking forward to getting back to community service.

 

He was the one responsible for painting over the decades-old railroad bridge graffiti, and to be honest, he was kind of sad to see it go. The crude markings had been there for as long as he could remember, and had become somewhat of a community landmark. After that task, he was assigned neighborhood cleanup: a complete and utter bore, but better than jail.

 

Door-to-door visitation had even gone well. He made it to the following Saturday without any  _ Dad’s Going to be On Your Case _ incidents. He never picked up the conversation he started with his mother weeks before, and she never pushed it. She probably forgot. Parents were funny like that. 

 

Dean tried to shrink away from the conversation on the church bus ride home, but someone caught onto his lack of contribution and mistook it for feeling left out.

 

“What about you, Dean?” Garth asked above the noise of the bus rolling ungracefully over railroad tracks. “You coming to Pam’s birthday party tonight?”

 

“Sorry, can’t,” he replied simply. The rest of the bus looked like they were waiting for an explanation, and were somewhat disappointed when he didn’t supply one. Dean wasn’t allowed to talk about his punishments. Dean was supposed to be the perfect poster child that everyone looked up to.

 

Sam pushed through from the back of the bus and scooted in beside his big brother. Dean knew what Sam was doing. While he appreciated it, he didn’t need his little brother’s protection.

 

“I’m fine, Sammy. I can make something up if anyone asks me what’s going on.”

 

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to have to.”

 

Dean looked out the window so Sam wouldn’t see the ridiculous smile on his face. The kid was a real pal. He was quick to pick up on the emotions of others, even someone with a game face like Dean. And he wasn’t afraid to stand in the crossfire, or in the case, sit on the sticky bus seat, of someone he truly cared about.

 

“Where’s Jessica?”

 

“She isn’t feeling well,” Sam replied.

 

“Uh oh, somebody’s gonna miss out on Top Ten Trip.”

 

“She’s got plenty of time to catch up.”

 

“I’m just messing with you, dork.”

 

Sam’s shoulders relaxed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that not everyone who carried their church tracts actually pushed for the words between those pages. It was like living your whole life with your hand balled into a fist, never being allowed to relax. Every once in a while, he had to remember that Dean was the one in his life encouraging him to loosen up.

 

“You like closing for Bobby?”

 

“It’s tiring, but kinda fun.” Dean started bringing homework to Bobby’s shop on Tuesday night, but spent about sixty percent of his alone time procrastinating. And by that, he meant cleaning every shelf, rearranging the front display, and sweeping the garage. Anything to put off schoolwork. Most of it could be done in the ten seconds it took the teachers to collect it, anyhow. After Cas explained bonding to Dean, he needed a whole day to process the information, then spent the next twelve days trying not to think about it. Cas was right, it was complicated.

 

“If you’re not going to the party tonight, what are you planning on doing? Since you don’t have community service?”

 

Dean glanced down and picked at his dress shirt sleeves. “Bobby’s getting me to pick up a couple of extra hours. I’ll be late, probably.”

 

Sam waited for Dean to meet his insistent gaze, but he never looked back up. “Okay,” Sam bended after several long seconds of trying to break Dean with his disbelieving stare. To Dean’s relief, the bus rolled into the church parking lot before any more awkwardness could happen. He spotted his dad in the Impala, parked by the church office.

 

“Oh and Dean,” Sam added as they stood up to exit. He leaned up to speak quietly. “For goodness sakes, try to stay out of trouble.”

 

Dean pulled back with a start. “At work?”

 

“Sure,” he put up air quotes, “while you’re ‘at work’. If you get grounded again, Dad might chain you to your door knob.”

 

“If I get ‘grounded’ again, it will be him literally putting me into the ground. With his belt.”

 

Sam winced. “Ugh, yeah that’s true. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” When Dean looked off distantly, as if imagining the stupid thing he was just hours away from doing, Sam rubbed his face helplessly and tucked his hair behind his ears. “Let me rephrase. Don’t get caught doing anything stupid.”

 

“Now that, I might be able to swing.”

 

* * *

 

“When an incubus is summoned,” Cas had explained on Monday night, “the place of intercourse develops a portal for more demons to pass through.”

 

The analog clock in the shop counted the long seconds as he and Dean talked through the nitty gritties. Dean tapped the counter absently as a truth dawned on him. “That’s why dad’s water bottle flew off the podium and the cross flipped upside down. Awhile back I asked if you did that. You said no.”

 

“No, incubi don’t meddle with mischief such as that. We simply create the portals so others can come through.”

 

“And you get, like, brownie points for this or something?”

 

“The spiritual exchange system is vast. Much more so than the one humans have created for themselves.”

 

“So my buddies play the Ouija board, you come through, and that’s it. The church is a permanent spiritual gateway?” Dean clarified, to which Cas nodded. “And where does my soul come into play here?”

 

“When you summoned me in your home,” Cas continued, “we had intercourse on the physical plane instead of in the hotel room I created from your fantasy. This heightened the trade value of your soul.”

 

“The who of my what now?”

 

“Souls that have been touched by the darkness of my kind go into an intermediate state… a limbo, of sorts. Heaven and hell go into a bargaining war over them.”

 

Dean puffed up slightly, trying to lighten the subject. “Well? Is there a bunch of bidding going on up there for me?”   
  
“Yes,” came the matter-of-fact-response. “Your bloodline determines much of the value of your soul. The fate of yours is cause of much disruption on the spiritual plane.” 

 

The more he thought about it, the more fishy this deal sounded. He dug into his memories, sifting through all the warm and fuzzy feelings, and found something quite disturbing. 

 

“Wait. Forgoing the hotel fantasy was your idea. You wanted my soul to go up for bid.” Cas looked down, ashamed. Dean stood up in fury. “You bastard. What have you done to me?”

 

“Wait, I’m --”

 

“What else do I have to do before the bond is complete? And what does that even mean?”

 

“Bonding to an incubus, means the human’s soul is bound to their incubus instead of heaven. When they die, they go to hell to live with their mate.”

 

“Fan-freakin-tastic. And what would you get out of bonding to a human?”

 

Cas swallowed and looked back up. His eyes held conflicted emotions, and Dean didn’t want to think about how much that affected him. “I would never again be able to teleport, or be summoned magickally. And I would obtain a mortal body like you have.”

 

“Well that’s kinda sucky. Anything positive?”

 

“I would be granted permanent sanctuary from my work.”

 

Dean leaned on the counter, a curious look on his face. “So, retirement? From being a sex demon?” Again, Cas nodded. “You can’t just… quit?”

 

Cas looked uneasy. “My labor is forced.”

 

Upon hearing this, Dean slanted back into the chair. His lips parted, but shut again when he found no adequate words. And then a sick feeling settled in his gut when the truth hit him. Cas was a slave. And Dean had benefited from the system. Yes, heaven and hell were bargaining for his soul, which sucked, but his anger was misplaced. Cas was just trying to make the best of a bad situation and climb the demonic corporate ladder.

 

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

 

“It is not of import.”

 

“Like hell,” Dean defended. “So you’ve got portals and soul fates. Ching ching. What are you gonna do with all that moolah?”

 

“Many incubi save up enough to choose a high-ranking eternal companion, usually another demon. Others just use their wages to buy time alone, away from labor.”

 

“Any hot demon companions down there strike your fancy?”

 

Cas looked deep into Dean’s eyes, a small sliver of  _ something Dean couldn’t quite place _ letting itself shine through. “Not anymore.”

 

The air around them thick with emotion, Dean gulped down a lump in his throat and scrambled for words. “But this… total bondship thing… It goes both ways, right? It’s not just a one-way street?”

 

“It’s possible, yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“To continue the steps toward total bondship, the demon and human must speak each other’s true names. There is great power in a name. In this case, the ability to tie yourself to someone else’s soul.”

 

Dean raised a brow. “Cas isn’t your true name?”

 

“It’s only part of it. My full name is hidden.”

 

“And I gave you my name right away. Wow, I didn’t even think about the possibility of demon culture being so intense,” Dean worked out. “Wait a second. I gave you my name -- I gave you that power over me -- and you haven’t used it. You’ve gotta say my name for that step of the process to complete. You… Why haven’t you taken advantage of that?”

 

Cas bobbed his head from side to side, avoiding a direct answer. “I’ve had several people make the same mistake you have, in ignorance.”

 

“But you used that power to your advantage with the others, didn’t you?” When Cas nodded, Dean was quick to start putting together the pieces. “So why haven’t you done it to me? Why am I so special?”

 

“I was going to, at first. And when I learned that you had spiritual leaders in your bloodline, I knew I had made the deal of a lifetime. The price of your soul rises higher as we speak, and with one utterance of your name, I could pay for centuries away from my labor.” Cas paused to scratch at a dent in the counter. “But I will not. Even now, I am doing what I can to release you from the intermediate state. It will take time. It’s all very… complex.”

 

Dean felt exposed knowing such power sat in the hand of the unholy creature before him, but somehow, he felt unafraid. He even felt a bit comforted. Although Dean couldn’t be grateful for being tricked into making deals with devils, Cas was stopping the damage as much as he could. But he still wasn’t being clear why. Dean didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he desperately wanted to entertain the idea that Cas might feel the same way Dean felt about him.

 

“What other steps make you a human’s bitch?”

 

“The short answer? Breaking the natural order of incubi and assuming the position of a succubus instead.”

 

Dean’s head tilted back in contemplation. “But aren’t those the lady demons?”   
  


“No, it has nothing to do with gender,” Cas said, slipping off the counter and onto his feet in front of Dean. ‘Incubus’ is Latin for ‘to lie on’ while ‘succubus’ means ‘to lie under.”

 

He said it like he was reciting something off a flash card. He probably learned all the technical terms in incubus school, but Dean soaked it up like a sponge. Then the realization rolled in. “Your ass gets bonded to a human by… bottoming?”

 

Cas shrugged. “It’s a bit more complex than that, but yes.”

 

Dean actually laughed. “Is that what you meant when you talked about accepting a service in return?”

 

“Orgasming from that, as well as orgasming from a human performing oral sex on me.”

 

Every encounter came rushing to the forefront of Dean’s mind. Had he really been so self absorbed that he failed to recognize that Cas never actually came? Dean’s heart sank into his stomach. “I’m usually better about making sure the people I’m with… get to where they need to go. I can’t believe I never caught onto that.”

 

“It’s fine. No one ever does.”

 

Those last four words caused Dean’s stomach to turn in a knot. “Cas, man. I feel horrible. For so many things. I didn’t know you were in demon sex trafficking. I didn’t know you used my freakin’ church and house for currency. I didn’t know you’re trying to undo the shit you caused on my soul. And I didn’t mean to try and pressure you into letting me suck you off. I had no idea of the consequences.”

 

“You don’t need to apologize, kind human.”

 

Dean deflated at the absence of his name. “Off the record, though, can I ask you something?” Cas straightened to full attention. “Would you ever want for you and, a uh, a human, to complete a soul bond?”

 

Behind his inhumanly bright eyes, Dean could see Cas’ trained inscrutability melting away. “Not unless that human were fully ready for a commitment like that. And eternity is a very long time.”

 

Ribbons of hope trickled through Dean’s center, warming him all over like a fire in the dead of winter. All this eternal bond mumbo jumbo was more than Dean bargained for, and would probably require more explaining along the way, but he got the basic gist. And that was: he had one foot in heaven, the other in hell, and both hands gripping onto an immortal, powerful, mystical creature that held not only his soul, but -- dare he think it? -- his heart. Not only that, but maybe, if he was very lucky, he held Cas’ heart, too.

 

But for now, he wouldn’t push his luck. Right now, he had to deal with the fact that he couldn’t live with himself knowing he was supporting something so evil as forced prostitution. He had to face the reality of his soul in the balance, and what that meant for his eternity and whether or not he even cared that he might never see his loved ones when the roll was called up yonder. Dean’s world had just gotten immeasurably bigger, his issues exponentially more complicated.

 

“Cas, I --” he started to say, but the incubus vanished. He exhaled sharply, body suddenly relaxing from all the tension pent up. At the same time, he was saddened at the abrupt departure. He had so much he wanted to say. This was not at all how he wanted to say goodnight. Dean rubbed away tears that welled in his eyes, irritated at not being able to pinpoint why exactly he was feeling all these things.

 

That was the Monday before last. Twelve days had come and gone, and Dean hadn’t called on Cas one single time. He couldn’t bring himself to it. He held his finger over his name a dozen times, each time muttering “Dammit, Cas” before locking the screen and going on with his day. Now it was Saturday, and Dean needed to get Cas out of his mind before he lost it.

 

What was he supposed to do? Start a Free the Incubi movement? Picket outside the gates of hell with a “no more forced demon labor” sign? The spiritual hierarchy was much more complicated than even he, raised in a religious environment, was led to believe. Their working class system wasn’t glamorous, that much he learned, but what could a mere human do to overturn it? Besides, Cas hadn’t explicitly asked for help. He sounded interested, but neither of them were in a position to make their relationship exclusive, so Dean fell into a spiral of uncertainty.

 

All he knew was: Doing it with an incubus got people majorly fucked, and not just the fun way. Strictly speaking, lots of people’s souls were bound to Cas, but only to the point of being dangled between two soul fates. Godly heritage, physical plane sex, and using names equalled more fuck bucks, and tipped the scale on the probability of those souls ending up in hell.

 

The full-fledged, balls-to-the-wall bond between an incubus and human was a lot more two-sided. The human had to do the name thing, too. The incubus had to break some incubus rules. Both would be human, for the rest of their mortal lives. Soul fate was certain: the human would be bound forever to their bondmate, in hell.

 

All in all, it was more hell talk than a midsummer camp meeting.

 

Saturday was his chance to get images of Cas out of his head. It was selfish and wrong, but so was everything else about this. All Dean could think about was the fruitlessness of standing by while Cas was summoned to other jobs. He was powerless to help him. So he directed his attention to work and community service. When that failed to distract him, he arranged Saturday night’s activities.

 

While everyone else in their age group accepted the invite to Pam’s birthday party, Dean sneaked out of his bedroom window to join Benny and Gordon on the church grounds. Under the cloak of darkness, they wandered to the side of the old church building that sat adjacent to the graveyard, away from the parking lot lights. Gordon went to public school and only came to church on Christmas and Easter, but it wasn’t like tonight was a contest to see who was more spiritual.

 

“You bring the goods, my friend?” Benny inquired, after the three were sure no one had seen them disappear into the shadows. Dean had assured them that there was no reason for anyone else to be present, but they couldn’t be too careful.

 

“I did one better,” Gordon replied, digging through his pocket. He brought out a Ziploc bag of something indiscernible in the dim light.

 

“What’s that? I thought you were bringing vodka,” Dean said as he peered at the bag.

 

Gordon guffawed. “I thought about it, but it’s time you boys tried something new. Tonight, I’m treating y’all to some of the best weed in the state.”

 

Dean leaned back apprehensively, but Benny’s eyes lit up. “Dang, you’re spoiling us tonight!” the Cajun declared.

 

“And that’s not even the tip of the iceberg,” Gordon went on with a wave of his hand. “You sheltered babes have no idea what kind of fun I can get you into.”

 

“Trouble, you mean?” Dean said. “I dunno, Gordon. This makes me nervous.”

 

“That’s your daddy talking, Winchester. Trust me,” Gordon assured him with a slap on his shoulder. He pulled out a tightly rolled joint and held it in Dean’s face. “When have I ever led you guys wrong?”   
  


“He’s right, brother,” Benny said with a nudge. Dean nervously took what Gordon handed him, not taking his eyes off of it. “And it’s been too damn long since we cut loose. Have you seen you lately? You’ve been wound up like a ten day clock ever since our rendezvous at Biggerson’s.”

 

Gordon took out a lighter and put the bag back in his pocket, turning up a curious brow at Benny’s reference to the restaurant but not interested enough to ask for an explanation. Dean noticed the inquisitive look and wondered how Gordon didn’t know that he and Benny were in a perpetual state of messing around. Perhaps Dean was keeping his interest in men well hidden, after all. Regardless, Dean knew the precise reason he was so high-strung, and although the case could be made for lack of release, that wasn’t the only reason. Even if he had something warm and wet to stick his dick in, it wasn’t Cas.

 

“I’m not sure what to do,” Dean admitted, holding the joint awkwardly.

 

“No worries,” said Gordon casually. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

 

Gordon briefly explained the basics of sharing a joint. He lit the end, told Dean how to take in a slow, even toke, and went over the puff, puff, pass rule. Fingers trembling under the cold and uncertainty, Dean coughed as the smoke scratched his throat and handed Benny the joint on the exhale. Gordon laughed as he patted Dean on the back, then went over the same rules with Benny. After seeing his friend succeed, Dean felt more relaxed for his next drag after Gordon.

 

An hour later, the three were leaning against the building, talking shit about anything and everything. Dean was elated at the drop of his inhibitions and took the opportunity to tell Gordon all his preacher’s kid woes. It was fantastic.

 

“And if my dad knew I liked dick,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, I’d get shipped off to Jesus camp so friggin’ fast. They think they can ‘pray the gay away’ up there.”

 

“My sister got sent to one of those,” Gordon sighed, a far off look in his eyes. “They told her some crazy shit, like she was attracted to women because her mother didn’t breastfeed her.”

 

“The fuck?” Dean spat indignantly. 

 

“I shit you not. She had so many weird stories from that place. Ran away in the middle of the night.”

 

“Were your parents the ones to send her?” Benny asked. “Where did she run back to?”

 

“Yep, they sent her. She came in through my bedroom window at four in the morning. I’ll never forget it.” Gordon looked back up from the vivid memory. “I hid her in my room as long as I could.”

 

Dean slid down onto his rear, arms resting on his knees. “Your parents find out?”

 

“Oh yeah, they found out alright. And they were pissed as hell.”

 

“What’d you do?”

 

“Well,” Gordon grumbled as he sat down cross-legged. Benny followed him down. “I was eighteen anyway, so she and I moved out. Had to stay in motels for the first few weeks, until I could get an apartment. I had some money saved, but that ran out pretty quick. So now I’m doing this.” His hand grazed over his pocket, where a few more joints and his lighter sat.

 

“You got into dealing drugs so you could support your sister?” Benny clarified.

 

“Hell yeah,” Gordon huffed. “Our extended family is out of state, and they’re worse than our parents. Sis and I take care of each other. We’re all we’ve got, now.”

 

The three sat in silence, the gravity of Gordon’s job weighing heavy on Dean’s mind. Maybe it was the weed, but he couldn’t help but feel emotional about the turmoil Gordon’s sister must have gone through at conversion therapy camp, and how lucky they were to have each other.

 

“What’s her name?” Dean asked after a long moment of quiet.

 

“Frankie,” Gordon replied. 

 

Dean nodded shortly. “Well, you tell Frankie that Dean thinks you and her are badass.”

 

“She’ll agree.”

 

Dean laughed. He felt so relaxed, connected to his two friends, and every sense was heightened. On the negative side, his throat felt very dry, and he was seriously considering asking if either of his companions had any food. He laid his head against the building and closed his eyes, posture limp and the cold biting against his skin. 

 

“You really do have the best ideas, Gordon,” Benny numbled, the effects of the weed now full-on. “Ring me up for another.”

 

“Me too,” Dean agreed.

 

“What did I tell you two?” Gordon teased, taking out his bag again. “I never steered you wrong.”

 

They chuckled through the transaction, both buyers tucking away their purchase for later use. Frigid against the November midnight’s dropping temperatures, Dean considered moving their meeting indoors, as he carried a key to the gym. Deciding against it, he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and glanced up to see headlights pierce through the darkness. His indifference turned to panic when the car pulled into the church parking lot.

 

“Dudes,” he nodded toward the intruder. The car headlights had barely missed them, and before the group of three could think to make a run for it, the driver cut the lights, giving them a view of the passengers. It was Ed Zeddmore and Alan Corbett, who exchanged a few unknown words before leaning into each other’s space to start an intense makeout session.

 

“Oh man,” Benny muttered as they watched from the shadows. It was borderline cringeworthy; their seatbelts were still on, so their tongues couldn’t quite reach into each other’s mouths, and their noses kept bumping unceremoniously. Finally, Ed thought to unbuckle himself, and knocked Corbett in the face as he whipped his seatbelt off. Corbett’s eyes blew open as Ed apologized and grabbed his face again.

 

Dean started giggling uncontrollably. It wasn’t that funny. Why was he laughing? Must’ve been the weed. The situation escalated when Corbett broke the kiss to unbuckle and lean his seat back, then began crawling into the backseat. When Ed followed him back, the three looked between themselves deliberately.

 

“We sticking around for this?” Gordon put himself out there to be the one to ask what everyone else was thinking.

 

Before either could answer, another set of headlights appeared, this time shining directly on them on the car’s way into the church lot. The three ducked down, but not before their location was fully illuminated. However, the primary concern of the driver proved to be the scene happening in Ed’s car. Dean and Benny sucked in a sharp intake of cold air when the person stepping out of the second vehicle proved to be Ed’s dad, one of John Winchester’s deacons.

 

“Shit,” Dean hissed, backing away further from the scene. Benny trailed him all the way to the back of the graveyard before both of them realized Gordon was nowhere to be found. “Benny?”

 

“Right here,” he whispered in the dark. 

 

“Son of a bitch deserted us.”

 

“Forget him. One of the deacons saw us.”

 

“He might not have,” Dean tried to reason. “He was pretty focused on getting Ed and Corbett off each other.”

 

“His headlights were on us, you plum fool!”

 

Dean tripped over one of the graves, collapsing onto the frozen ground. Benny dragged him up,  lonely footsteps crunching under frosted dirt heightening their anxiety under the herb’s influence. They reached the cemetery’s edge and huddled behind an above ground grave, going rigid at the sound of Brother Zeddmore’s voice.

 

“Boys, I know I saw you back there. Glad I followed my son all the way out here to keep him from committing fornication, and on holy ground of all places. But I didn’t expect to see you loitering in the dark. What were you guys up to?”

 

Dean and Benny held their breath as the voice got closer.

 

“Your father is already on his way, Dean.”

 

Benny shot a look at Dean, who deflated in defeat. The Winchesters lived a mile down the road; it was senseless to run. A stream of light swatted back and forth against the grave that hid them. Brother Zeddmore’s flashlight would soon make their hiding pointless.

 

“Benny Lafitte,” the voice grew closer still. “I believe you dropped something.”

 

Frantically shuffling through his pockets, Benny sweat turned cold when he realized his joint had fallen out of his pocket.

 

“And the young man who took off is your dealer, I presume?”

 

The sound of the Impala’s roaring engine eased into hearing range. After turning the car off, John crunched over gravel to where the parking lot met the graveyard. 

 

“Dean,” he called. “Show yourself, son. Or you’re going to be in even more trouble than you are already.”

 

“Doubtful,” Dean mumbled. “Get ready to run, Benny. I’m gonna get them to look the other way.” With that, he rose from behind the grave and faced the harsh flashlight beam.

 

Dean met his father’s disappointed gaze and tried to ignore the deacon’s disgusted one. Ed and Corbett leaned against the deacon’s car, embarrassed from the unwanted attention. They watched Dean approach with quiet astoundment, knowing full well the happenings of tonight would be forbidden from being repeated.

 

“Where’s Benny?” Brother Zeddmore asked as Dean walked right past him.

 

“Dunno. He went the other way.” Dean shot a glare at Ed and Corbett, who looked down sheepishly, then made eye contact with his father while opening the Impala’s passenger door. He let out a relieved sigh when Benny’s faint outline sprinted out of the graveyard and towards the woods while the two men were focused on the three visible troublemakers.

 

Although it was plain that the deacon wasn’t falling for Dean’s lie, he showed no interest in tracking Benny down. He looked at Ed and Corbett while pointing at his car, and the two obediently sank into the back seat like dogs with their tails between their legs. Dean collapsed into the Impala, followed shortly by his dad, who wordlessly started up the car again and rolled out of the parking lot.

 

The short drive home was deathly silent. It was the longest drive home Dean ever had. Although he tried to downplay his impending punishment, his mind couldn’t help but list out all the ways his dad could make him pay. When John pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, the two sat like statues for a full five minutes before Dean let out a shaky exhale.

 

“Give it to me,” John instructed, holding out his hand.

 

“What?”

 

“I can smell it on you, boy. Hand it over.”

 

Dean squirmed at the term. He wasn’t a child anymore, but it looked doubtful that his father would ever think differently. After wasting as much time as possible burrowing his hands through each pocket, he pulled out the joint and held it out between two fingers. John grabbed it and opened his door.

 

“What else you been doing?” he interrogated as he threw it into the dumpster on his way to the back door. Dean closed the door behind him and followed him to the porch, his breath puffing against the winter air. 

 

“Nothing, Dad. I swear.”

 

“That Benny fellow is a bad influence on you, isn’t he? Did he put you up to meeting that drug dealer?”

 

_ Which time? _ Dean thought with a smirk. It was no secret Gordon dealt, but tonight was the first time he brought Benny and Dean actual drugs. Every other time it was either alcohol they were too young to buy or cigarettes the store clerk would tell John about if either church boy brought to the register. His dad poised the key in the back door lock but didn’t turn it. 

 

“We going inside? It’s cold.”

 

“Not until you tell me what else happened tonight.”

 

“I told you, that was it! Why don’t you believe me?”   
  


“Should I?” he roared. Dean stepped back. “You’ve done nothing but lie and rebel against me. All I ask is that you be an example to the rest of the young people. And you go and do nonsense like this, and in the presence of those who look up to you, no less.”

 

_ Look up to me while sucking me off, maybe _ , Dean inserted mentally, as he stared at his father with his best poker face.

 

“At first I thought you might’ve ran off with that girl you had the audacity to drive around in our family car. I thought you were out doing sin with her.”

 

“Dad, no --”

 

“I was relieved to hear you were with boys, at first.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. His whole body went stiff, from anticipation, if not from the cold.

 

“Then Brother Zeddmore said his son and one of his classmates were… were…” John’s lip turned up. “In the back of his car, lying with man as if with a woman.”

 

The term always seemed funny to Dean, but his poker face didn’t let it show. His dad could have his Shakespearean euphemisms. Mocking him wasn’t going to get Dean anywhere good.

 

“And when he said you were there, at first I thought he meant with them.”

 

A threesome with Ed and Corbett. Now that was a visual Dean never wanted to have again. 

 

“Is Benny one of those people?”

 

Dean’s brows furrowed. “One of ‘those’ people?”

 

“Queer,” John clarified.

 

_ As a three dollar bill. _ “How should I know?” he shrugged.

 

John exhaled through his nose, lips smashed shut and visibly discontent with his son’s answers. He turned the key in the lock and let his son go in first. “I feel like you’re getting too old for a whippin’, Dean, but --”

 

“That’s ‘cause I am,” he piped up as he stepped into the warmth. He shook off his coat, a lump caught in his throat as he awaited his father’s punishment.

 

“...But a pot-smoking, disrespectful son, that I cannot abide. Go get my belt.”

 

Waiting until he wasn’t facing his dad to roll his eyes, Dean clenched his jaw and clumped towards his parents’ bedroom. He began to wonder why he hadn’t started working out, so he could beat the living hell out of his dad when he started suggesting medieval corrective measures such as this. He was turning nineteen in a couple of months. The my ‘house, my rules’ horseshit was getting old. His heart jumped into his throat at his father’s next words.

 

“Your brother’s got it.”

 

Dean shot a loathing glance back at John before darting upstairs. He didn’t even knock before barging into Sam’s room, only to see his little brother standing blankly with the belt folded in his fist. He was already facing the door, and held it out while avoiding eye contact.

 

“Sammy,” Dean breathed. Instead of taking the belt, he walked around Sam, stopping when he saw it. Long red marks painted Sam’s upper legs, the rest of the bright blotches hidden by his boxers. Dean tenderly lifted his shirt to see more on his back, and dropped the fabric before running shaking hands over his face. Tears welled in his eyes.

 

“Tell him why you got a whippin’, Sam,” John’s voice echoed from downstairs.

 

Dean stepped to Sam’s front again, offering a remorseful glance to his brother, who finally lifted his eyes.

 

“I wouldn’t tell him where you were,” he said softly.

 

Rage surging through him, Dean stomped down the stairs and got in his dad’s face. “He didn’t tell you where I was because I didn’t tell him, you bastard!” Before he knew what was happening, a thick, heavy palm struck him on the mouth. Dean groaned and pulled back. His face felt red, and he covered his lips while his dad loomed over him.

 

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you tonight, Dean.”

 

Dean shot a hateful glare above his pulsating mouth. Was he bleeding? Had the blow made him bite his tongue? It happened too fast for him to know. “Dad, he didn’t know.”

 

“After everything you’ve done,” he hissed with a pointed finger, “and with how much influence you hold over him, you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe him.”

 

“No, I don’t forgive you.” Dean looked down at his hand. No blood.

 

“Spare the rod, spoil the child.”

 

“Bull crap,” Dean corrected, standing as tall as he could. Though he was rapidly approaching his father’s height, the former Marine towered over him in strength and intimidation. “What you did up there. It’s child abuse.”

 

A humorless laugh escaped John’s lips. “You sound like someone of the world, Dean. I can’t believe you would defy the scriptures like that.”

 

The reality of the last five minutes finally caught up to him. His dad had just hit him. He screamed at him in Sam’s defense and got hit in the mouth. Or punched? Dean wasn’t sure. He felt his neck redden as his blood pressure rose and hands balled into fists.

 

“I don’t like punishing you and your brother, Dean. You must understand that. But I have an obligation to raise my boys in the ways of truth.”

 

“Stop!” Dean screamed. His mother peeked her head around the corner, clutching onto the door frame with an apologetic look. Dean felt only slightly comforted by her presence before turning his attention back to his father. “You can’t just quote stuff out of nowhere and apply it to whatever situation you need to ease your conscience.” He was still yelling, but couldn’t calm himself enough to tone it down. “You beat my brother. Your son. You beat your son! How does that feel, Dad? Huh?”

 

“It feels awful,” John replied, too quietly to convince Dean he was being truthful.

 

“Yeah? I don’t think so. I think you like it. This is all a power trip for you, isn’t it? You wanna see how close you can get everybody to your idea of a perfect life.”

 

“God’s word is clear on how we should live.”

 

Something in Dean snapped. He got close enough to his dad’s face to feel his breath. “I don’t give a shit about how you or a damn book says I should live.”

 

The silence that filled the room was deafening. Sam observed from the top of the stairs, too scared to move. Mary held onto the door frame in her nightgown, a small smile creeping across her lips. John stared into Dean’s eyes, unblinking, unwavering. At last, Dean stepped back and took several deep breaths after holding out for another blow that seemed trapped somewhere between John’s brain and fist.

 

Before anything else could fly out of his mouth, Dean noticed a shadow in the corner shift. Dread washed over him. He and Cas had gotten frisky in this house. The portal to evil was wide open, and someone was coming a’knocking. The demon swirled around the corner, eating up the raw tension like a feast. It creeped across the ceiling before stopping right above John, then descended upon him in a transparent cloud. Dean swallowed thickly and took a step back, unsure of what he just witnessed.

 

“Dad?” 

 

John blinked against the strange heaviness that draped over him. “Go to your room,” he grumbled.

 

Dean’s lips opened and closed, searching for words that didn’t sound totally crazy.  _ You don’t happen to feel like a demon just landed on you, huh Dad? _ He took a step back, holding his hand out to separate himself from the clenched fists at John’s sides.  _ Dammit, Cas and your sexual conquest trade deals _ .

 

“Dad, just breathe --”

 

Dean didn’t have time to flinch before John’s fist pounded into his face, earning a gasp from Mary and sent Sam scuttling back into his room. Dean’s impact cracked the drywall behind him, and he slumped onto the floor as black spots clouded his vision. His face throbbed with pain. He felt it everywhere, making it impossible for him to discern what part of his face to check, so he just hovered his hands over his whole face, jaw slack and aching. He braced himself as his father stepped up to him and reared back one of his legs. Dean’s eyes clamped shut as he felt the toe of a boot in his stomach. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he recoiled with his arms wrapped around his sides as he struggled for air.

 

“John,” Mary cried, running into his space to pull him back. He snapped out of her grip and turned to face her. Face turning pale, she backed away upon seeing his expressionless glare.

 

“Don’t you dare touch her, you monster!” Dean screamed hoarsely. He coughed, pushing through the pain to sit upright. The only things keeping him from succumbing to the sickening hurt were adrenaline and protectiveness over his mother. 

 

His dad took one more step towards his mom before Dean started throwing threats. “You lay one hand on her, I’ll kill you!” Stopping mid-stride, John slowly turned to face Dean, who was pulling himself to his feet with one last agonizing groan. “I’ll kill you, I will. I swear it. Don’t you touch her.”

 

John stared a hole into Dean, who glared right back with less malignancy, but equal fervor. The suspense ended with John dropping his head and turning towards the living room, where he turned the light off and laid on the couch. Dean and his mom shared a terrified sigh before falling into each other’s arms. He held her tighter when he felt her sobbing against his shoulder.

 

“Dean, I --”

 

“Shh, it’s okay, mom,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna let him hurt you.”

 

“But he’s… he’s never been like that before. I don’t understand.” She raised her head, but sunk back into Dean’s arms as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Dean, I’m sorry. I don’t know why… Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” He felt his body begin to tremble from the aftershocks, but he forced them back down with a long exhale.  _ Stay strong for her _ , he kept saying to himself.  _ She doesn’t need a wimp for a son right now. Pull yourself together.  _ “You wanna stay in my room?”

 

She let out a short hum, memories of his childhood bringing a sad smile to her face. She pulled away and wiped her tears. “When you were very little, you’d jump into bed with me when you were scared. I never thought I’d see the day when the tables would turn.”

 

Dean remembered being scared of thunderstorms and the monster in his closet. A certain sadness grew inward at her words. She should never have to fear sleeping in her own bed. It was infuriating, but he was too debilitated to be as enraged as he wanted to be. 

 

“Come on,” he said while heading up the stairs. She stole one more glance toward the darkened living room, then followed him up. Dean dug through his dresser for a change of clothes and headed for the shower so she could have some time alone to get settled in.

 

The shower spray stung when it hit Dean’s face, so he turned the temperature down and gingerly washed the places that hurt. He looked down to see a sharp purple bruise splotching on his stomach, and struggled to bend down to wash his legs. Every movement involving his abdomen muscles hurt, which, come to find out, was a lot of them. After doing the best he could and standing under the water in utter silence, he broke down in tears. 

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it. His dad wasn’t supposed to be an asshole who hit his children. His mom wasn’t supposed to seek refuge from the man who vowed to protect her. His schoolmates weren’t supposed to be hunted down like animals and made an example of, just because a parent couldn’t stand the thought of his son experiencing love for another boy. Gordon wasn’t supposed to have to resort to a life of crime because of his homophobic parents. Lisa wasn’t supposed to get stuck paying her drug addict mother’s bills. It was all so wrong.

 

And it was all preventable. If the adults around him would just open their eyes. If they could only see that there was so much more to life than the outward appearance. More than reputation. More than caring about what people could see. More than what they were led to believe. Dean let the shower drown out his voice, and he leaned against the tile and cried.

 

When he was sure the tears had stopped, he turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain. Face to face with his reflection, he stared across his bruised body. One side of his face was a sickly red and yellow, with a blue ring under his eye. The pronounced purple bruise dragged across his stomach, along with a large but faint blue one on his thigh from when he smashed against the wall. He looked at his arm on the same side to see a small bruise on his elbow, where the impact broke the drywall. 

 

After drying himself off and getting dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, he brushed his teeth while trying not to look at himself. The bruises would look worse in the morning. He couldn’t yawn without a sharp pain in his side, most likely stemming from his dad’s boot. On the way back to his room, he tapped on Sam’s door, careful to step around the creaky areas on the hallway floor.

 

“You okay, Sammy?” he asked quietly when the door cracked open.

 

Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of his brother’s face. “That from Dad?” Dean nodded. “Dean, I don’t even know what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just lock your door, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Mom is sleeping in my room. I’m gonna keep watch over you guys.”

 

“You’re not gonna sleep?”

 

“Couldn’t if I wanted to. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep, Sam.”

 

“Okay, goodnight Dean,” he said before shutting the door as quietly as possible.

 

Dean peeked into his room to see his mom asleep. Content with the state of the people under his care, Dean slid to the floor beside his door, the moon shining through the distant front door window his only light. He closed his eyes, but his mind raced. Pain coursed through his body, starting at his stomach and curling into his fingers and toes. It pulsed through every vein, his face muscles throbbing as the shock subsided and true discomfort could settle in. He didn’t want to take a chance at waking his dad on the way to the kitchen for a pain reliever, so he bit his lip and endured the long night of cramping muscles and worrying house noises.


	7. Concealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after John's violent outburst, but to the rest of the congregation, it's just another Sunday morning. The Winchesters are masters at keeping up appearances, but the facade doesn't fool Cas. 
> 
> Dean finds an unexpected friend in one of the visitors, but to start off her first Teen Meeting right, he has to get out of being grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> Religious homophobia and sexism  
> Mention of transphobia  
> Cas doing his job
> 
> Sorry, guys... It's heavy stuff, I know. As I forewarned, this story isn't all sunshine and rainbows. Oh and oops, some plot got in your porn... sorry about that. Don't worry, there's some yummy smut coming (ha) soon, and I will make it worth the wait. I promise. Please don't behead me <3

Dean jerked awake to the sound of his door creaking open. He figured he got a total of one hour of sleep, between dozing off after every strange sound and the power nap between twilight and dawn. He looked up to see his mom poking her head out of the door.

 

“Is he still asleep?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” said Dean. He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his head from side to side. Mary patted down the hallway, stopping before the stairs.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” she said softly. She looked like she wanted to smile bigger, but the circumstances didn’t exactly call for it. “I’ll come up and cover your bruises in a few minutes.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Your dad is still going to expect us to go to church.”

 

No. Just…  _ no _ .

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

Mary tilted her head sympathetically. “I know, Dean. And believe me when I say, I don’t agree with it. But not going will just raise questions.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. He really needed to get out of here. He would save up, find a place, and get the hell out of Dodge. It would have two bedrooms, just in case his mom needed a place to stay. Sam could crash on his couch. There was nothing holding him here. He was grown, rebellious, and sexually deviant from his dad’s perfect plan for his life. The first two, John already knew about. If Dean was lucky, he could get out of there before the third one slipped.

 

After his mom disappeared downstairs, he slowly worked his way to his feet, spouting off painful groans all the way up. What wasn’t sore from sitting all night, ached as a dull twinge from John’s strikes. He knocked and entered Sam’s room to find him already choosing a tie.

 

“Mornin’ fugly,” Dean muttered.

 

Sam raised a brow and looked his brother over. “You’ve got no room to talk, dude. Actually, you look worse now.”

 

“Yeah, that’s kinda how bruises work.”

 

“Are you going to get ready for church? I don’t want you to be the reason we’re late.”

 

“Shut up, if we’re late it’s always because of your luscious locks of hair that beg to be brushed.”

 

“I don’t brush my hair. At all. I just do this.” Sam ran his fingers through a couple times from his hairline all the way down to his neck. His floppy strands fell back into place around his face.

 

“I hate you so much,” Dean mumbled as he stormed off. Since when did people with more hair need less hair product? Once in his own room, he looked in disdain at the hair glue and gel sitting on his nightstand. Although experimental, both were fine products in their own right. He just wished there was a magical hair flip for people who didn’t like it in their faces.

 

He didn’t make a fuss over his appearance this Sunday. Not when he was in so much pain. After he finished the last button on his dress shirt, someone knocked on his door. He opened it to let in his mom, who was carrying a cosmetic bag. 

 

“Really? You’re putting makeup on me?” he questioned as she squeezed a tiny amount of concealer on her finger.

 

“Relax, no one will be able to tell.”

 

The concealer felt pasty and thick on his skin, but she smoothed it out with a sponge and moved on to powder foundation.

 

“Do I look pretty?” he teased as she fluttered her makeup brush over his cheek.

 

She puffed a laugh out of her nose. Her mouth was closed but she was smiling. Finally, a real smile. Dean loved it when his mother smiled. “There, that’s better. Go look.”

 

He turned to the cheap full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Leaning close, he looked over his bruised cheek, now disguised as regular skin. It was actually pretty close to his natural tone, but the sensation was strange and tight and  _ why did it feel like his skin couldn’t breathe. What the hell. _

 

“I’m a painted whore,” he blurted.

 

“Dean,” Mary snapped.

 

“Sorry, Mom. And thanks. Can I touch it?”

 

“No, it’ll rub off. Come have some cereal when you’re done.”

 

Being alone in this familiar space allowed Dean to process more of what had happened. Although it was true that his father’s harsh behavior was brought about by demonic influence, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was bad, very bad. He didn’t want to think about what he had to do… what he had been putting off for so long. After last night, it was unavoidable. 

 

He had to talk to Cas again.

 

No one else was in the kitchen when Dean came in to eat, so he scarfed down a bowl of cereal and stole a glance into the living room before heading back up. His dad wasn’t there, truly signaling the continuance of life as usual. This was actually happening. They were going to smile and be perfect and exemplary and act like John didn’t beat the shit out of his son the night before.

 

The car ride was short, as always, but uncomfortable. John put in a southern gospel cassette tape, and Dean fumed the entire drive up.  _ A southern gospel tape _ . Who the  _ fuck  _ did he think he was? The quartet sang of happiness in Jesus and joy coming in the morning, and for the first time in his life, the words actually made Dean sick. He tried to block out the music with thoughts of something,  _ anything  _ else… Busty Asian Beauties, last night’s first smoky toke, Cas’ lips wrapped around his cock… And then he felt worse. He couldn’t use Cas like that anymore in good conscience, not even in thought.

 

The most beautiful sound that morning was the music stopping with the cut of the engine. Without a word, Dean threw open his door and rushed to Sunday School. Brother Davies noticed Dean wince when he sat down and made a snide comment about Dean being “too young” to complain about aches and pains. The deride boiled his blood but he shot a one-syllabled laugh to get Davies off his back. 

 

John’s sermon lacked flow and proper citation for most of his points, but it didn’t stop the zeal with which he preached. He sounded tired, which would usually put half the congregation to sleep, but the yelling made up for it. Dean was jump-scared on several occasions as his voice leaped into decibels usually reserved for speaking above a chainsaw. Dean’s leg bounced nervously and he chewed the inside of his cheek as his dad brought up a timely subject: homosexuality.

 

“In light of some unfortunate circumstances that will remain confidential until further notice,” John rumbled as he gripped onto both sides of the pulpit, “I have felt led of God to bring this message before you today. Leviticus 18:22 says, ‘ Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’ Now, you might say: That’s all fine and good, pastor, but what about the New Testament?”

 

Dean growled out a long, closed-mouthed sigh. This was going to be the longest of long days.

 

“Turn in your Bibles to Romans 1:26, where we read: ‘And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet.’”

 

_ Natural use? _ Dean bristled against the term.  _ Dad, please stop talking _ .

 

“This book is clear on the roles between men and women,” John continued with fervor. “We are to delight in the wives of our youth. In Corinthians, we are admonished: ‘To avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife’.” 

 

The number of men who nodded their heads in agreement was frankly embarrassing. Dean felt like he needed to apologize on behalf of his entire gender. He avoided eye contact with his dad, lest the indignation written across his face catch unwanted attention. Instead, he looked at the baptismal tank directly behind the choir loft. And then the pulpit, from which the water bottle flew several weeks prior. And finally, the dark corner. He silently hoped his dad’s exorcism was ineffective, so the demon could get up to more mischief and cause an early dismissal.

 

Why was he putting up with this? He was a grown ass adult. Oh yes, that’s right. Because a lifetime of being urged to wait for  _ God’s will for his life _ not only encouraged but necessitated an adolescence of passiveness and lack of purpose. It wasn’t until Dean came to terms with his bisexuality that he started seriously questioning everything he had been raised to believe. He had long since abandoned 99.99% of his father’s teachings, scrambling for enough money to hightail it out of there in the meantime.

 

Some of it didn’t suck -- the universal truth of loving your neighbor, for example. Which apparently, John didn’t believe in as ferociously as he claimed.

 

“If you see one of your brothers or sisters in Christ, straying from the natural order,” his voice quaking with emotion, “it is your God-given duty to pull them back into the ways of truth!” Egged on by an amen from behind Dean, John continued. “Matrimony between man and woman is holy unto God, and anything else pretending to be so is an abomination! Be ye holy, as I am holy, he says.”

 

Dean felt bile rise in his throat. He had done so well, fighting tooth and nail to accept himself despite years of hearing this. Why then were tears threatening his eyes, and his heart rate elevated? 

 

“Stop,” he mouthed, whether to himself or to his dad, he did not know. In either case, it wasn’t working. 

 

On and on he was upbraided in the presence of everyone he knew, and his head pounded with every verbal agreement around him. He closed his Bible and put it in the hymnal rack. When his dad decided to start using homophobic slurs, he excused himself as unobtrusively as possible.

 

Once in the vestibule, he could breathe again. The ushers gave him strange looks as he exhaled deeply against the sanctuary door. Ignoring them, he rushed into the men’s restroom and locked himself in a stall before dialing Cas. Dean felt another pang -- guilt, this time -- thinking about how long it had been since their last communication. 

 

“Hello, human.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted. “Cas, I’m real sorry. I am. I just…” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Please, I need you. Church bathroom.”

 

“Are you alright?” There wasn’t a hint of anger in Cas’ voice.

 

Dammit, why’d be have to be so full of genuine concern? “Just... just come on.”

 

After hanging up, Dean took a moment to make an attempt at clearing his mind. Right now he was a total mess and didn’t want Cas to get the brunt of it. Inhale, exhale. He turned at the sound of wings flapping, only to jump back startled at the demon sitting atop the stall divider.

 

“Cas, get down here,” he hissed with a sharp wave of his hand.

 

“Why are we whispering?” came the soft, confused reply as he slid down the smooth wall.

 

“Because you are a demon, and this is a church.”

 

“I see,” Cas said as he glanced around the cramped stall. “Do you require my services?”

 

“No,” Dean answered with a slight slump. “I can’t do that with you anymore, man.”

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, just. Come here.” Dean brought Cas in for a tight embrace. The demon twitched under the unexpected touch, but soon relaxed and even brought his arms around Dean in return.

 

“Is that a hug?”

 

Dean chuckled against Cas’ scaled neck. “Yeah Cas, that’s a hug.” He felt his eyes sting and kept his lids apart so he wouldn’t encourage tears by blinking. “I just really needed you, that’s all. And not sexually.”

 

Cas cocked his head, still holding onto Dean for as long as he continued the hug. Dean had called him to work on one occasion for conversation only, but only after a heated session of phone sex. The concept of a discussion totally void of sexual content was foreign. “I don’t understand. Why would a human want me if not for my services?”

 

Dean pulled away and held Cas’ head in his hands. “Because I actually give a shit about you.”

 

Those glowing blue eyes flashed dark, but instead of full-blown lust, they emanated wonder and warmth. For just a split second, Dean saw humanesque irises flicker under the demonic facade. They were the most breathtaking shade of sapphire he had ever seen. He stared into Cas eyes, unblinking, hoping for another glimpse. When it didn’t come, he closed his slack jaw and looked briefly at Cas’ mouth.

 

Incubi had a certain manner about them -- a very specific way of behaving around humans. They were to be cold, standoffish, impersonal. Cas threw it all out the window, stepping back into Dean’s space and wrapping his arms around the human’s waist. He exchanged the look at Dean’s lips and leaned forward.

 

“No,” Dean instinctively drew back. “Cas, you don’t have to. I’m not asking you to.”

 

With a smile unlike any he had given any human, Cas held Dean closer and gazed into his captivating green eyes. “I want to.” With Dean’s hands still around his jaw, he tilted his face up until their lips met, sweet and tender. There was no rush, no bolts of lust that begged their groins to grind against each other; this was something different. It was giving and unpresuming and exactly what they both needed at this very moment. Once their lips reluctantly separated, they stood forehead to forehead, noses bumping, each wanting more but feeling selfish for it.

 

Dean’s fingers wandered to the back of Cas’ neck, where they ran through short hairs and over smooth scales. They could feel each other’s breath; hear each puff of air as it left their mouths. Dean looked down at the lips he loved so well, his own open and yearning. It was the most intimate thing he’d done in his life, and with anyone else, it might’ve been intrusive. But not with Cas.

 

“Can I kiss you again?” Dean asked meekly, each consonant clicking loudly so close to Cas’ face.

 

Cas’ hands moved from Dean’s waist to the back of his head. “Please.”

 

Neither of them knew how long they stood there, giving of themselves to the comfort of the other. Neither of them cared how long Dean had been gone from his father’s sermon. All they knew was this moment, and it was all they had, so they took it. Their lips tugged and sucked, eyes flitting open to ensure the other was really there, that this wasn’t just a dream. When Cas drew back enough to see Dean’s whole face, he furrowed his brows and looked down his cheek.

 

“Something is wrong.”

 

Stepping away, Dean dropped his gaze and hovered his fingers over the area Cas was staring at. “You noticed.”

 

“I smelled the blood under your skin,” he said. “At first I thought I was imagining things but... Your skin looks different.”

 

“Mom covered up the bruises. Hey, stop.” Dean held back Cas’ hand when he tried to hold his cheek. “It’s gonna rub off.”

 

“Who did this to you?”

 

After a shaky exhale, Dean met Cas’ eyes once again. “My dad.”

 

The blue fire in Cas’ eyes flared brighter. He stared intensely at Dean, words failing him but still able to direct everything he needed to convey in a look. The emotion was foreign to him, but he knew what he felt. Wrath. Devotion. Retribution. What words weren’t stopped by unfamiliarity were stopped by the knowledge that this was partially his fault. And there was another new emotion. Guilt.

 

“Is the demon in your house yet?”

 

“Yes, I think that’s why he did it.”

 

“No,” Cas growled. “They can be defeated. If he gave in that easily, he wasn’t even trying. Do not justify his actions.”

 

“Are you saying he can stop?”

 

“Yes, he has the power to overcome his violent tendencies at any moment. It will be harder with dark energy inside the home, but it’s possible.”

 

“Wait,” Dean jumped in. “So this thing didn’t hop through your portal with the specific job of making my dad a douche.”

 

“Not implicitly. They seek out someone in a moment of weakness and latch onto a negative feeling. The influence is known to embolden some people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. But it isn’t possession. Your father struck you because he wanted to, to begin with. And he did nothing to stop the rage.”

 

“Well, isn’t that just dandy,” Dean muttered as the back of his head bumped against the metal stall. “Angry dad on steroids. I’m pretty pissed at you too, just for the record. You never told me what business you had fucking me in my own home.”

 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Cas genuinely did look contrite. “It was different then. It was before…”

 

Dean waited for the end of the sentence, but Cas just closed his mouth. “There’s a, uh, another reason I called you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause I fucking hate my dad. He’s out there vomiting all kinds of crap. And you know what’s really messed up? He believes it. Every damn bit of it. Bet he would lose his shit if he learned his son ain’t totally straight.” Dean rubbed his forehead, careful to avoid the concealed skin on his injured side. “But I kinda wanna tell him. Just to fuck with him. I wanna see the look of horror on his face. I want to see his eyes get big when he realizes his boy likes dick.”

 

“I am not an expert on human customs, but I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”

 

“No shit,” his voice rolled in a way that screamed  _ Duh _ . “I’d get kicked out on the street. And my mom and brother would be stuck with him and if he snaps around them, I’d kill him. No power in the universe can save him if it gets back to me that he laid a finger on either of them. I gotta protect them. I’m the oldest, it’s my job.” He sighed with a tired head shake. “Cas, you’re the only thing in my life that’s completely right and good. And you’re a freakin’ demon.”

 

“I am not good. I tricked you at the beginning.”

 

“And you just said it was different then. What were you going to say after that?”

 

Cas didn’t know how to vocalize what he was feeling. It was explosive and red and loud, and it touched every nerve ending when he was near Dean. He saw the freckles framing his face and found himself wanting to count them. He smelled his skin and sweat and blood, and he needed to touch it. Every time Dean spoke, he wanted to take in every slide and inflection. He wanted to memorize the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way his nose scrunched up when he was about to sneeze. The sparkle of green when their gazes met. What was all that?

 

“Before we started talking,” Cas began timidly, “I treated you the same as any summoning. You’re right, I did use you to earn more portals and soul bids. And for that, I will forever try to make amends.” 

 

Dean offered a small smile. It was nice to hear an apology in Cas’ own words. But there was something behind his apology, something coming that he couldn’t predict. He waited in suspense; something was waiting just at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t know what.

 

“You treat me differently than any human ever has. I don’t know why you do it, but I have grown to appreciate your kind gestures. When you call, I rush to you, as quickly as possible. And now, I treat you differently than any other human. You’re my special human.”

 

Dean’s heart melted a little. “Cas do… do you care about me?”

 

Cas nodded.

 

Mouth agape, Dean grappled for words as his chest swelled with a certain feeling. It was suffocating and tingly, like his heart was growing too large for his body. Before he could change his mind, Dean took the spark of boldness and smashed their mouths together. It was short and brash, but by the end, he had his words.

 

“Bond with me.”

 

Cas hardly had time to process the kiss before his head was spinning with the shocking proposition. “What?”

 

“C’mon, Cas. We met under crazy circumstances. If our backgrounds are any indication, we shouldn’t even be here right now. You’re an incubus. I’m a preacher’s kid. Yet, we keep on finding each other. And we keep each other sane. I think about you all the time. I want to hold your hand and wake up next to you and do boring couple things with you. If that ain’t love, man, I dunno what is.”

 

“No, we can’t,” Cas hissed regretfully. “Soulbond between a human and incubus is no small thing. It’s a very serious matter and I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret.”

 

“I’m not gonna regret it,” Dean promised. He grabbed Cas’ hands and brought them to his chest. “Please, Cas? I want to. I’m ready.”

 

“No, you are not.”

 

“Dammit, why not?”

 

“Because I’m not sharing my soul bond with someone who isn’t ready to be only mine, and for me to be only theirs, forever. I want out of this life, dear human. I’m working as hard as I can just to earn time away from it. So if I am granted permanent sanctuary, it will be with someone who wants exclusivity just as much as I do.”

 

“Man, are you talking about Benny, and every other cock I’ve had in my mouth? And Lisa? I only put up with them because I figured you’d be fine with it, with the job you have.”

 

“I am,” Cas insisted. “And I’m fine with you continuing to do so. There’s absolutely nothing I would do to stop you from seeing other people. But were we bonded, I would not share. And eternity is a very long time to be wrong about who you want to spend it with.”

 

“Let me prove it to you!” Dean exclaimed, too loudly for a church bathroom. “I’ll quit it with everyone else. The only reason I’m not getting dicked down by you is that I’m not okay with supporting forced prostitution. But you’re the only one I want to be with, Cas. You need to know that.”

 

Numerous voices could be heard in the vestibule. Church had let out. Dean looked at Cas with one last flash of supplication, thumbs rubbing into the demon’s hands.

 

“It’s… it’s never just a job when I’m with you,” Cas sputtered out as their time ran out. “When it’s you, I feel things I don’t feel with anyone else.”

 

He smiled at that.

 

“Besides, you have not magickally summoned me since you gave me the mobile device. Technically, it’s not work at all, when you call. As I said before, human. You are special to me.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure that he had gotten his point across or if what he said had made any sense. But Cas’ words hit him like a ton of bricks. What the hell did he mean, it wasn’t work? Holy shit,  _ wait _ .

 

“Cas, please --” he began, one more time, but the bathroom door opened, and Cas vanished.

 

_ No. Wait. Stop. _ Now he had more questions than answers. Friggin’ demons and their riddles!

 

Dean stayed in the stall just long enough to curse under his breath and do a convincing toilet flush. He washed his hands and nodded to Brother Shurley, the one just walking in. He thought he had made it out when the bathroom door shut behind him only for Pastor John Winchester to be towering over him just past the door frame.

 

“Something wrong, Dean? You left in the middle of the sermon.”

 

Dean blinked hard, in hopes that his dad wouldn’t notice the horrified look on his face. “I was uh, I felt sick.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The message did make his stomach churn.

 

Dean flinched when his dad brought his hand up, but he only touched the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead and dropped it back down. “You don’t feel warm to me.”

 

“Maybe it was something I ate,” Dean shrugged. “I really felt like I was gonna puke, Dad.”

 

John nodded and narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe him or not. “Go say hi to our visitors. One of them’s about your age. It’d be good to welcome him into the youth group, get him interested in teen church.”

 

Dean was overjoyed at the chance to get the hell away from this man. “Yes sir,” he piped while turning on his heel. He spotted the new family as soon as he entered the sanctuary. The parents were speaking to Mary, who was being sweet and welcoming as ever. Their teenager, a pale, red-headed, gangly thing, stood off uncomfortably, shooting glances here and there at regular members.

 

Not wanting to startle the newcomer, Dean made a wide swoop around the front pews so his presence would be known before he reached the visitors. When he made eye contact and offered a polite smile, the uneasy teen pursed his thin lips together, a salutation without the attempt at a smile behind it. Gently wavy hair fell below his ears, barely laying against his neck, and he wore jeans and light purple flannel. As Dean neared the family, he noticed three Bibles, a cross-body pocketbook, and a messenger bag.

 

“Hey,” said Dean to the group. He looked between the two parents and their teen, then to his mom.

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Bradbury, this is my son, Dean,” Mary introduced.

 

Dean shook the visitors’ hands. “Nice to meet you.” He turned his attention away from the adults, who promptly ignored him to continue their dull conversation. “What’s your name?”

 

“Charlie,” came the quiet reply.

 

“Hiya Charlie. You uh… enjoy the service?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Dean nodded and let out a knowing sigh. “I actually left for most of it, myself.”

 

Charlie swallowed and searched Dean’s face, but said nothing. 

 

“You um, coming to teen church tonight?” When Charlie shrugged vaguely, Dean smirked and turned on the charm. “Ah, come on. We’re gonna have tasty-ish brownies and semi-stale chips. Usually, it’s enough to power through whatever flies outta Brother Zeke’s mouth.” He let out a forced laugh, which Charlie seemed to pick up on, and offered a sympathetic smile. “Girls and boys are separated though, sorry to say. You can always sit with me and my guys.”

 

Somewhere along the way, Charlie’s expressive eyes had shrunken away from the conversation. Dean stopped talking immediately and backtracked. Boys and girls. Teen church. The visitor’s pew of belongings. The two purses. One for Mrs. Bradbury, and the other for…?

 

Dean’s gaze met Charlie’s once again. Half smiles tentatively crawled across both of their faces. It was like Dean’s train of thought was being followed, first to his abrupt halt in monologuing, then to his second guessing, and finally to here, where he and Charlie met in a moment of… something.

 

In all his years of meeting visitors, none of them ever gave off this vibe. It was instantaneous, like they were supposed to meet. Like they were siblings in a past life and here they were again, picking it up right where they left off. They had never spoken before, and Dean had major trust issues, but something on the good side of trust gnawed at him deep in his bones.

 

“I somehow get the feeling you left your dad’s sermon for certain… reasons,” Charlie prodded with an undaunted glint.

 

Dean swallowed, expecting to fear being called out on his cut and run, but the feeling never came. It was weird… meeting someone and not being afraid of them  _ finding out _ . Looking past the adults, he tilted his head toward the piano, where they could chat without grown ups breathing down their necks. Nodding, Charlie followed him. Once shielded by the baby grand piano and away from post-service chatter, they settled into the silence, and Charlie spoke first.

 

“Look, I’m not gonna ask. All I know is, your dad is an ass, and I think you know it, too. But I’ve known you all of ten seconds, and I can already tell you’re not like him.”

 

Nodding slowly, Dean took in the brash assessment. Someone who agreed that his dad sucked? He liked this kid already.

 

“And call me an optimist, but I can already tell you’ll be cool with my preferred pronouns.”

 

“Yeah,” he said immediately. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Awesome,” Charlie sighed. “My folks aren’t exactly… supportive.”

 

“Sorry,” Dean offered. It wasn’t his fault, but it didn’t matter. These four walls were not a supportive place either, which he had a sneaking suspicion was part of the reason the Bradburys were here. 

 

“Imagine being born in a body that just feels… not right. And knowing that’s not who you are. My parents don’t believe me because I was assigned male at birth. But surprise,” a short chuckle, “it’s a girl!”

 

Dean smiled halfway. She knew how to keep the mood light, but he saw through it. Maybe that’s why their connection was so magnetic. They were so very different, but at the same time, not so much. They both hated it here, and just needed someone to tell it to. Maybe the universe didn’t hate Dean as much as he thought. Maybe they needed each other for such a time as this. 

 

“You’re the first person here I’ve told. Such an honor, I know,” she continued, tossing her palm down offhandedly. “And if your dad’s preaching style is any indicator, I’m not sure there will be a second or third.”

 

Dean blinked. He mentally went through his small circle of friends. “Actually, there might be a fourth or fifth.”

 

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. “I’m not even sure why I trust you so hard. You just seem… different.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea.”

 

“You know,” she spoke up in another tone, and it was either that she had just thought of it, or had been thinking about it a long time. “This place has one of the strictest youth groups around, and my parents are dumping me here on purpose. They said they wanted me in a Teen Meeting that has a ‘clear distinction between boys and girls’ so I won’t be ‘confused’.”

 

Dean tilted his head, the new air about Charlie grabbing his attention. He knew that far-off look anywhere. The wheels in her head were turning, and they were calculating, devious, rebellious. Yep, they were going to get along just fine.

 

“Hypothetically, I could sit on the girls’ side. If, you know, I had some peeps to help me go undercover.” She shrugged. “Four of five would probably do.”

 

This time, the smile crossed both sides of Dean’s mouth. “Hypothetically, some of my friends are girls who would jump at the chance.”

 

“Hypothetically, the youth pastor hasn’t seen me yet.”

 

“Which means you’ve still got time to get ready for that first impression.”

 

Charlie and Dean shared an understanding nod. Oh, this was an insane idea. 

 

“Hypothetically,” she continued, “I bet one of your lady friends rocks at makeup.”

 

_ That’d be Lisa.  _ “Hypothetically, one of them might have a dress that would fit you.”

 

“Hypothetically, I should try it on. And then we should all go shopping.”

 

He pushed away the fact that he was still technically grounded. He would wiggle out of that. “Hypothetically…give me a few minutes to rally my troops. You okay with me asking for their help?”

 

Charlie’s grin was blinding. “Hypothetically, do the thing. We’ll all meet after lunch. Then, we ride!”

 

It was daring. It was crazy. It was happening. After exchanging numbers, Dean started sending texts on his way to the parking lot. They needed a room to work in. A makeup artist. Some clothes. Transportation. The replies came within minutes; Benny, Lisa, Meg, and Jo were all in. 

 

Dean exhaled gratefully. He climbed into the backseat, hardly noticing his family getting in around him and driving into town for lunch. Although he couldn’t escape the troubling aura hanging like a cloud over the family vehicle, having something fun to look forward to made it bearable.

 

“You look like you’re feeling better, Dean,” his dad observed as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

 

“What’s wrong?” his mom piped up.

 

“Oh, he didn’t tell you, dear? He felt sick in the middle of church.”

 

“I told you, it was something I ate,” he answered. “It’s gone now. Whatever it was, my body got rid of it in a hurry.”

 

“You alright to eat?” Mary asked innocently. “I can make you tomato and rice soup at home.”

 

Dean knew that his dad knew he was lying through his teeth, but he honestly thought about going along with his mom’s idea, just to make him sound more believable. He liked that soup, anyways. And not just when he was sick.

 

“He’ll be okay,” John said before Dean could speak up. “There’s soup on the menu if he feels like it.”

 

Dean’s cheeks dimpled as he smashed his lips together in an effort to hold his tongue. He liked exactly zero soups on the menu of their usual Sunday afternoon stop, and his father knew it. This was most certainly a trap. Fuck that. He was going to make those damn soups his appetizer, entree, sides, and dessert. So his crotchety old man could go directly to hell.

 

Midway between ordering and receiving their food, Dean brought up a passable excuse for cutting his grounding short. His dad always was a sucker for charity cases, and Dean made a good point that no one had visited the church widows as of late. It was a relatively risk-free lie, as John never kept tabs on widow visits, as long as they were marked as done. With his dad’s newly restored faith in him and a bowl of chicken noodle on the way, Dean finalized his plans via the occasional text and played the convincing part of a pious minister’s son for the duration of the meal.

 

* * *

 

Breaking through the veil and into the physical plane, Cas flew to his next assignment. The room was dark, save the white glow of the waning moon in the window. She was sleeping alone, her breaths the only interruption to the deathly quiet that had fallen over the room. It was as if the universe itself stopped and stared at such heinous crimes against humanity.

 

The utter lack of noise stopped bothering the incubus long ago. He was only occasionally bothered by his own depravity, and tonight wasn’t going to be one of those times. Slithering down the wall on scales and claws, glowing eyes fixed on his victim, Cas crawled to the woman’s bed with practiced stealth. She looked peaceful.

 

He could smell her horniness through her nightgown and bedspread. This one wouldn’t need biting. Climbing on top of her, Cas secreted fresh, sweet pheromones to ease her out of sleep and into a very aroused state. At the first whiff of him, she stirred with a low moan. Her body began to react to the stimulant with flushed cheeks and panties growing wet.

 

The demon pressed his groin to hers, eliciting a tired groan from her. She rocked up to meet his grinding, spreading her legs but keeping her eyes shut. Cas kicked the sheets to the foot of the bed and hooked a clawed finger under the hemline of her soaked panties. Her nightie was short and was already hiked up from her arching into him so eagerly. After tossing her underwear aside, Cas unsheathed his length and slipped into her folds effortlessly.

 

When her eyes fluttered open, Cas readied his fangs in case she reacted in terror. Instead, she croaked in a sleep-riddled, broken voice, “And who might you be?”

 

Not exactly a typical response to an incubus with his penis up someone’s vagina, but he would take the easy ones when he could. “Go back to sleep,” he admonished her.

 

“M’kay,” she purred. “Mm, that feels so good.”

 

He was pressing into her at an indolent pace. Fairly certain she thought she was dreaming, he avoided making sudden moves, so as to make this visit as seamless as possible. When she reacted only positively, he quickened his thrusts minutely, taking cues from her excited breaths and throbbing pussy.

 

He decided to further try his luck. “May I have your name?”

 

She groaned in delight as he grazed the spot deep inside her that she had been aching for all week. “Layla,” she cooed, arching her back. “It’s Layla.”

 

The demon above her smiled with a pair of glossy fangs. His eyes glowed a little brighter at the mention of a name he could claim. With it, he would tip her soul off balance. She’d be damned forever. And the payout would be double.

 

“Layla,” he enunciated deliberately, the sound of each letter binding her soul to his control. With each letter spoken, he dragged her a little closer to damnation. By end of the last vowel, she was all his. He said it again, just for good measure. And again, as he drove his cock further into her.

 

She came crying out into the stillness, waves of pleasure rolling through her as she pulsated around the demon’s skilled cock. He rode her through it, pulling out once she stilled and closed her eyes. He peered at her unmoving body, waiting for the likely realization that she had just been fucked by a total stranger with wings, horns, and glowing eyes. Instead, she began snoring. 

 

It was an unusual encounter, but not unheard of. Most sleepers excused it as a wet dream. Others figured it to be the remnants of a bad trip. What happened afterward, however, was none of Cas’ concern. The incubus raised himself into the air with a flap of his powerful wings and took flight, into the veil to fulfill his next mission.


	8. Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's day under a mask of normalcy continues, and Charlie lays down some truth bombs that force him to think about what could happen if worst comes to worst. His father's regime must end in order to ensure his family's safety, but the odds are purposefully stacked against anyone who dares act out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Sorry Saturday's update was so late... I was double-checking a few things on it, and it looks like it paid off! The comments are awesome. I'm glad you guys are digging the story. If you want to be warned, I've included some things to watch out for in chapter 8. If you do not prefer this, just ignore the paragraph below. Enjoy! <3
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> \- mentioned transphobia  
> \- mentioned homophobia/biphobia  
> \- basically, just a bunch of religious-based hate  
> \- mentioned violence  
> \- Tessa is an asshole  
> \- dubcon dream sequence, pain during penetration

Like the saint she was, Benny’s mom made snacks. The garage was a mess of chatter, crumbs, and Spotify. The dress Charlie picked from Meg Masters’ collection hung waiting on the garage door as Lisa fussed over her makeup. Charlie knew everything about the products the other girls were using, thanks to YouTube, and took to the practical application right away. 

 

“Let me try the other eye,” she insisted, grabbing the new tube of mascara from Lisa.

 

“Go for it. I brought makeup remover wipes, too,” Lisa said as she dug around her powdery cosmetic bag. She slipped the pack of wipes into Charlie’s bag. “You can keep those, by the way. Mascara too. That’s not really one of those things you want to share.”

 

“I’ll deffo need those wipes.” Charlie looked intently at the mirror as she flitted the mascara wand over her top lashes. “I’ll have to take this off after Teen Meeting. My parents aren’t exactly on board with this.”

 

“That sucks,” said Lisa as she shook up a bottle of setting spray. “Do you think they’ll ever change their minds?”

 

“No way. Why do they think they started coming here?”

 

Charlie closed her eyes as Lisa spritzed her face. “Wait, for real?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. “I’ll be out soon, though. I’m only seventeen for a few more months. I’ve been saving up to go live with my aunt. She’s cool. And it’s nice to finally have some real friends.” She glanced back at Dean, who was talking to Benny and Meg. “Anyone in the youth group I need to steer clear of?”

 

“Tessa,” Lisa spat right away. “She might be too righteous for the Lord himself.”

 

“Yikes,” Charlie breathed with wide eyes. She got up and grabbed the dress on the way inside Benny’s house. “Be right back.”

 

Jo’s truck rumbled into the driveway. Dean jumped onto the step bar, and she reared back with a startled laugh when she turned to see his face a foot away.

 

“You’re gonna miss the fashion show,” Dean scolded once she rolled down the window. 

 

“I would never, Winchester,” she defended. “I had to stop for gas after my mom decided she needed me to clean up the bar from last night.”

 

“Was Ash a no-show again?”

 

“Duh, he was ass-deep in a conspiracy theory forum and almost done putting together his death ray, probably.”

 

“Death ray? Really?”

 

“You know the stuff I’ve told you about Ash. He’s crazy.”

 

Dean fought the urge to liken her to him. Jo had her reasons for being ostracized, just like he did, but it was always easier to see it in others. Running a bar with her mother while attending a church that condemned alcohol was bound to be challenging, so she probably felt unwelcome anyway. If Tessa had already gotten to her, there was no telling what Jo thought the youth group as a whole had to say about her.

 

Dean and Jo hurried into the garage where Benny, Lisa, and Meg were already gathered around the opening door. Charlie beamed as she stepped in. Meg’s dress was long and floral but casual, with a black background and ruffles at the hemline. 

 

“Look who’s best dressed now, bitches,” Charlie announced with cheeky flair.

 

The small swarm of people erupted into excited gasps and applause. Meg moved her fingers in a twirling motion, to which Charlie whirled around, her airy dress flowing closely behind. Charlie blushed under the shower of praise, most of the words getting lost as everyone talked over each other, but was positive she picked up on “pretty” and “beautiful” at some point.

 

Jo’s truck barely fit everyone, but that was part of the fun. Sure, the mom mobile would have been a more comfy fit, but Dean was supposed to be visiting widows, and anyone else skipping Between Service Naptime could spot the horrendous thing a mile away. If he was going to have an alibi, he was at least going to be smart about it. 

 

The mall trip was a breath of fresh air for Dean, who found himself talking to Charlie more and more. He had never been one to be accepted into cliques, but he could see one rapidly forming between the six of them. Before this morning, Dean had always gotten along just fine with the other four. Charlie bulldozing her way into his life was a catalyst for the making of this circle, and sudden as it was, it felt right. 

 

“So do you sneak out of your dad’s sermons regularly?” Charlie asked him over a rack of shirts.

 

Dean glanced back at Meg, Lisa, and Jo, who were out of earshot and distracted by a gondola of graphic tees. “Only when he starts yelling ignorant crap.”

 

“How often is that?”

 

“More often than not, actually. But today was pretty bad. I should clarify.” He sighed. “Ignorant crap about how sinful I am for liking guys.”

 

“You’re gay?”

 

“Bi.”

 

“Ah,” Charlie nodded. “He given you the ‘you’re just confused’ speech, yet?”

 

“He doesn’t know.”

 

Charlie sucked in a stream of air and raised a brow. “Sounds like it wouldn’t go over too well, anyway.”

 

“I dunno. I mean, you’re out to your parents. Kinda makes me want to get it over with.”

 

“There’s a difference between being nervous about outing yourself because you’re not sure how they’re gonna react, and not outing yourself because deep inside, you know that telling them is going to put you in danger.” Dean furrowed his brows. “You already know what’s going to happen if you tell your dad, don’t you?”

 

Dean had already run it through his mind a thousand times, but this time he had an angry fist and steel-toed boot to add to the equation. With his dad as hot as he was against homosexuality, coupled with his unwillingness to control the darkness overshadowing him, Dean had to entertain the possibility that his father might hurt him… a lot. Exactly how much, he didn’t want to experiment with to find out. 

 

Charlie was right.

 

“He’d ship me off to conversion therapy,” he replied at last, not wanting to reveal the physical abuse he had endured. Talking about getting beaten to a pulp for being bisexual was a wide-open doorway for it, and he wasn’t ready for the conversations that would follow that. 

 

“That’s where my parents are sending me if they catch me in these threads.”

 

“Woah, hold up.” Dean dropped what he was doing at the clothing rack and got close enough for their words to be just between them. “This is new information. What about the thing you said about putting yourself in danger?”

 

“Coming out to them was different, and I’m not gonna get into the details. But basically, I thought they took the news okay-ish, until they kept misgendering me. Then I started to realize they were doing it on purpose. And then they started church-hopping, hoping one of them would stick.”

 

“Hell, Charlie. Are you sure about this?” 

 

“I’ve had a long time to think about it. Believe me, I’ve been planning something like this for months. Just didn’t have the chance to act on it, until my spidey senses started tingling after you said that thing about leaving in the middle of the sermon this morning. Don’t question my attention to detail, dude, I’ve thought this through.”

 

“Changing clothes before and after church, it’s risky. Your parents could catch you and I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

 

“Don’t,” she snapped, holding up a finger. “This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to being able to express my identity as I want. It might only be for an hour every week, but I’ll freakin’ take it. It’s more than I thought I’d get at a church like yours. No offense.”

 

“None taken, believe me. Just… be careful, alright?”

 

“Coddling isn’t a good look on you, Winchester.”

 

“Geez, alright,” Dean muttered. “And if absolutely everything goes to shit, I’ll see you at Jesus camp.”

 

“Save me a seat,” she said. “And help me decide between these two tops.”

 

She held them on either side of her, one a graphic tee, the other a cropped flannel shirt. Dean pouted as his eyes bounced from shirt to shirt.

 

“Both,” he finally replied. “At the same time.”

 

“I’m not getting both.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’m on a budget, and I’m already getting two dresses and a skirt.”

 

“Lemme see.” Dean dug through her cart, carefully studying each piece. She was definitely going for a small, versatile wardrobe, and the pieces she had chosen so far would match lots of different things she could get in the future. One dress was solid army green, the other pink and blue color-blocked. She also had a denim skirt in there, which would go fantastic with the shirts she had picked out. 

 

“Yeah, you definitely need both of them. Gimme.” He closed and opened his extended palm, nodding at the flannel blouse.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Buying one of them.”

 

“No.”

 

“Shut up and give me the damn shirt, Charlie.”

 

“Why?”

 

Dean snatched the hanger out of her hand and threw it over his shoulder before storming off towards the cash registers. She didn’t bother chasing him down, but he wouldn’t have stopped if she did. He fell in line behind Lisa. The line wrapped around several displays, one of which had mirrors at eye level to see the jewelry hanging below that was available to try on. He grumbled to himself, noting how much more visible the bruising was after several hours. No one had said anything -- he was just hyper aware -- but it was enough to make him uncomfortable.

 

“Hey Lisa, do you think I could uh… This is gonna sound so weird. Could I borrow your foundation?”

 

She turned, thankfully not facing the bad side, and gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah, sure. But can I ask why?”

 

“I just need to um, cover something up.”

 

“Like a zit or something?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean dragged out with finger guns. “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. By the way,” she scanned the area to make sure no one else from church was around. Her voice fell to a stern whisper. “I got tested.”

 

Dean felt his breath hitch in his throat. “And?”

 

“I’m clean.”

 

His shoulders relaxed on his exhale. “Thank goodness. Where’d you go?”

 

“The women’s clinic in town.”

 

“The one half our church pickets?”

 

“The one and only,” she gritted as they moved up in line. “I parked down a couple of blocks and walked around the back. Everyone who holds signs up does it by the front entrance.”

 

Dean shook off the displeasure threatening to show. Lisa deserved the decency of being able to walk onto those grounds in peace. But nope, she had to sneak in the backdoor for fear of being seen. She had to deal with harassment from the same people who sat beside her in the pews. STD testing or otherwise, didn’t she deserve the basic decency of conducting her business without people breathing down her neck? The Winchester church didn’t seem to think so. 

 

Every time someone rolled into the clinic parking lot, all the picketers saw was another baby killer. They did not see Lisa, a rape victim, alone and scared, needing proper care. They did not see a life in danger. Dean wasn’t sure exactly what they saw, to be honest, but he didn’t want in on it.

 

“They also got me signed up for counseling,” she went on, hoping that would add a lighter tone to the discussion.

 

“That’s… good,” Dean stated as the line moved again.

 

“They’ll prescribe me something for the anxiety. The sooner I can get back to work, the better off --”

 

“Lisa no,” Dean interrupted, her reasoning hitting him. “You don’t have to do that. It just happened, and you’re still recovering from everything. Please, don’t rush back into that.”

 

“You know I don’t have a choice,” Lisa hissed into his ear. “And you know why. My uncle is in the state senate and made the mistake of taking me on his campaign trail. Now I’m famous for being the ‘pretty Braeden niece’ and he pulled me out of public school because it ‘hurt his image.’ My mom doesn’t give a shit about him or me and sobers up just enough every other Sunday to make her appearance, so I can stay in school. But besides a partial scholarship, I’m the one paying for it. I’m the one paying for everything. Oh, and have I told you how impossible it is to find a job as a minor?”

 

“Lisa --”

 

“Pretty damn near impossible, Dean. My mom’s car doesn’t go over thirty miles per hour, every job in town limits minors to twenty hours a week, the pay for all of which are crappy, and my mom’s too high to notice any of it. I don’t think she even notices when I’m gone. Lying horizontally a few times a day makes more money than anything I could make in town. But I’m down for the count, and I need to get back out there before we starve to death.”

 

“Lisa, how long has it been since you ate?”

 

“I ate at Benny’s.”

 

“Before that, dammit.”

 

“Three days.” Lisa stepped up to the next available cash register, smiling and acting like it was just another day. Dean stood at the front of the line, stunned, angry, clutching onto Charlie’s blouse like he was trying to squeeze the life out of it. The lady at line two had to call for him twice for him to judder himself out of his raging daze. He flopped the shirt from his shoulder to the counter and did his best to be mannerly. It wasn’t until they were both tendered out that he realized Lisa didn’t have a bag with her.

 

“Did you return something?”

 

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, something like that.” 

 

Finding out exactly what she meant by that was nowhere near Dean’s list of priorities, so he shrugged and waited for the rest of the group to make it through the line. Benny and Meg didn’t buy anything but waited by Dean as Jo and Charlie completed their purchases. Time had run away from them, so they had to rush back to Benny’s house to go their separate ways. His mom even offered to make them sandwiches to go, which they all accepted happily.

 

Once Meg and Jo were gone, Dean approached Lisa with his sandwich.

 

“Stop,” she said. “I don’t want your pity.”

 

“I’m not giving you my pity, I’m giving you a fucking sandwich.”

 

Lisa jutted her head forward with an indignant sigh and let him place the Ziploc bag in her hand. “Thank you. Sorry for being a bitch.”

 

“You’re not,” Dean replied with a gentle jab. “I just wish things weren’t so shitty for you.”

 

“I’ll make it,” she promised. “I told myself a long time ago when the drugs first started to get really bad, that no matter what, I would survive this. How I chose to do it, is my burden. But it works and it’s not forever. Soon I’ll be able to get as many jobs as I want, and maybe ride an Uber until I can afford a better car.”

 

“It’ll happen,” Dean assured her. “Stay strong for me, okay?”

 

She looked down but smiled a little. “Kay.”

 

Dean turned to see Charlie approaching with both of her shopping bags and messenger bag. Benny waved goodbye to the others before heading inside. The van needed warming up, so Dean started it up and leaned against the door as Lisa and Charlie lingered to squeeze just a little more out of their afternoon.

 

“We shoulda’ gotten you a purse, too,” Dean directed at Charlie.

 

“Nah,” she shrugged. “This is better for every day.” Dean had already forgotten that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy her new outfits around her family, and he faced forward with a sad nod. “Besides, I can hide my change of clothes in here pretty easily.”

 

“You sly dog.”

 

“Do you need shoes, Charlie?” Lisa asked.

 

“I’ve got Converse that matches everything,” she replied. “Plus, Meg said she’s gonna order me some flats online.” 

 

“Sounds like a plan. I’ve gotta go, if I’m gonna make it in this hunk of junk before service starts, but I’ll save you a seat. See you in a few minutes!”

 

Lisa walked the short distance to start up her mom’s worn car, and Dean couldn’t help but cringe at the sounds it made. He noticed something else awry every time he heard it. While Charlie claimed shotgun in the mom mobile, he watched Lisa roll away, halfway expecting a sway bar to collapse before she made it down the driveway.

 

The evening service was starting soon, and they had no more time to spare. Charlie had fabricated a lie of her own, one her parents ate up like Sunday dinner. She texted them about how fun it was visiting the widows with Dean, knowing they were too enthralled to question the prospect of her immersing herself into the church functions.

 

“It’s Meg, right?” she broke the silence after sending the text. “Or am I supposed to call her Miss Masters?”

 

“I don’t think she has a preference,” Dean answered. “But if you see her during school hours, it’s Miss Masters.”

 

“Well, I go to public school. So, Meg it is, then!”

 

The engine was still cold, but the warm up would have to do. As they rolled out, Dean mentioned a few names of the people they had allegedly visited, giving Charlie briefs on each one and something vague about their visit, if anyone to ask. She assured him that her parents wouldn’t, as their church interactions stopped at dropping her off and picking her up, but the cover was nice to have, anyway.

 

Most everyone was already at church by the time they arrived, so they wasted no time getting upstairs to the borrowed elementary classroom. Most of the teens had already taken their seats, but Lisa was waiting for Charlie with an empty seat in the back row. Charlie’s heart skipped a beat as she scooted into the row. 

 

This was it. 

 

Looking around, she noticed several eyes on her, but couldn’t decipher their intent. She chalked it up as basic curiosity, just like at every other church-hop she had endured the past couple of years, and began to relax. One of the girls sitting in front of them, a spunky young teen, spun around in her seat and stuck out her hand.

 

“Hi, I’m Amy,” she said with a smile.

 

“Charlie,” her voice shook as she took Amy’s hand.

 

“First time here?”

 

Nodding her head, Charlie darted her eyes around the room and clasped her hands together. 

 

“It’s okay, don’t be nervous. Brother Zeke might tease you, but don’t pay attention to him. He’s a big kidder.”

 

Another girl, this one with shoulder length dark hair, turned her head and gave Charlie the up-and-down look. “Who’s this?”

 

Charlie was fairly certain she was asking Amy, not her, but she swallowed a lump in her throat and took the initiative. “My name is Charlie.”

 

“Hmm,” she purred behind dimpled cheeks, glancing her over again. “You’re really tall, Charlie.”

 

“Uh, thanks?”

 

“Isn’t Charlie like, a boy’s name?”

 

Charlie could feel her otherwise pale neck reddening. “Um, it’s short for Celeste.”

 

“Weird,” the girl drawled in at least two syllables. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Tessa, by the way.”

 

Hoping the blinks in quick succession would disguise her widening eyes, Charlie forced up a smile. “Oh, what a nice name.”

 

“Thanks, it means ‘harvester’,” she said as she rocked in her seat. She glanced down at Charlie’s lap. “Where’s your Bible?”

 

“Uh --”

 

“Chill, Tessa,” Lisa intervened. “It’s her first time in teen church. Way to make an impression.”

 

Tessa rolled her eyes and whipped back around to face the front. Charlie let out a stale breath and looked over at Lisa in distress.

 

“Well, now you’ve met her,” Lisa whispered as the youth pastor walked up to the music stand he used as a podium. “Now avoid her like the plague.”

 

Brother Zeke passed around a pile of small paper squares with places to check off each church-related activity. Charlie studied it inquisitively when the pile reached her, then took one and passed the rest on. Tessa turned back around, this time with a devious smirk.

 

“Can I mark you as my guest?” she stage-whispered, followed by a toothy snicker.

 

“Um…”

 

“Joking,” she insisted as she wagged her head. “But really, though. Who brought you?”

 

“Um, Dean?”

 

Tessa’s eyes slowly dragged to the boys’ side. “Dean needs guests to up his points? Interesting.”

 

Lisa shot Charlie  _ the look _ once Tessa turned back around, and Charlie responded with a high brow. This one was a piece of work. If Charlie could manage to keep from throwing Tessa down a flight of stairs, she might survive the last few churched months before freedom. She might even enjoy some of it, now that she had some real friends.

 

Dean sat near the back, which was generally frowned upon for someone of such spiritual stature, but he had his reasons. Lisa’s powder wasn’t as thick as his mom’s, so the coverage wasn’t as good. Anyone who spent more than five seconds talking to him would notice the bruising, which actually hurt worse than this morning. Hopefully, the room’s unnatural yellow lighting helped offset some of the blue tones. Also, he wanted to be able to see Charlie settled in and comfortable. As expected, Lisa found them both a seat, but when Tessa introduced herself, Dean’s internal panic alarm sounded.

 

The exchange was quick, thankfully, but he could read lips enough to recognize his name when she spun back around a second time. Not a moment too soon, Brother Zeke began the meeting, drawing everyone’s attention to a passage in Exodus and somehow tying it in with the evil of movie theaters.

 

It was utterly ridiculous but bearable. After an hour of letting every word in one ear and out the other, Dean bowed his head as Brother Zeke closed in prayer. After the final “amen”, the crowd dispersed, most of them heading downstairs right away, followed by the youth pastor. Dean stayed out of the way of the horde flooding past him, making a beeline to Charlie once the room was mostly empty. After her and Lisa’s goodbye hug and “see you next week”, she started down the stairs, leaving Charlie and Dean behind.

 

“You got it from here?” Dean asked.

 

“Bathrooms are at the end of the hall downstairs, right?” When Dean nodded, Charlie gave a thumbs up. “Then, yes. Thank you, by the way. Today was awesome.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, smiling while trying to keep his bruised side slightly turned. Mission complete. Charlie was right -- she had this planned, and was not to be underestimated. 

 

“I could get used to the six of us hanging out more,” he continued. “Any adult with functioning eyes would say we’re trouble, but... maybe that’s what this place needs. Even Meg Masters, though she’s technically school faculty, is on my dad’s radar. He says people like her are a bad influence. So naturally, I make a point to spend as much time around those people as possible.”

 

“Sign me the heck up. Next time you and your band of troublemakers head out, I better get an invite.”

 

“You’ll be the first one I text.”

 

“I better be,” she retorted. “You gonna be okay? With your dad, I mean.”

 

Dean swallowed. “I hope so.”

 

“I would tell you ‘if you need anything, let me know,’ but everyone says that. So I’ll just say, my aunt might have a second guest room. It’s kinda far away, but it’s there. Just food for thought. See you around, Winchester.”

 

If Dean didn’t have to go home to uncertainty regarding his own safety, Charlie’s words might not have meant as much. Would he have to take her up on that? He didn’t want to be a burden. Furthermore, he couldn’t leave his other family members to fend for themselves. Still, the offer was tempting. He began thinking of options closer to home, such as running away with his mom and brother to a hotel. The only other family they had were his aunt and uncle Campbell, and they were halfway across the country.

 

But the subject of his church’s politics loomed over him. In the controlling environment John Winchester had carefully fostered, women and children didn’t just run away from the man of the house. In  _ his ideal model _ , mothers were jobless, unskilled, and dependent on the sufficiency of another, making it impossible to escape abusive situations. Making them irrevocably controllable. 

 

In  _ worldier families _ , there would be a working mother, instantly ostracized from the church if she dared stepped out of line. That would begin the snowball effect of rejection, skipping out on services; the husband continuing in church without her, which would make her look bad; then eventually he would tire of the constant “where’s the wife” questions and the family would quit altogether, and the congregants would brand her as the wicked woman that made her husband backslide.

 

“That son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled under his breath as he climbed into his mom’s van. It was a genius plan. It was subtle and cruel and it  _ worked _ . All under the guise of doctrine. Right then and there, Dean knew he had to uproot the entire system on which his dad built this organism. Doing it under his own roof would be nigh on impossible, not to mention suicidal, but he had to try. For his mother. For Sammy. For himself. And every other unfortunate soul who found themselves questioning the structure of the clean-cut, Bible-thumping snare.

 

* * *

 

“How did the widow visits go?”

 

“Huh?”

 

The unexpected conversation pulled Dean out of the deep concentration of loosening his tie enough to slip it off his neck. The Winchesters were all back in one place now, settling in and awaiting the other shoe to drop on John’s bizarre behavior. His temper stewed at a low simmer all day, enough to feel its intensity but not enough to cause alarm to the casual observer.

 

The casual observer meaning: every last member of his church. Supposing it to be a divine influence, they shook his hand one by one after the evening service, complimenting his “spirit-filled message” and asking to pass on the fervor surging through his bones by “lifting them in prayer.” Dean stood by until the awed congregants got their fill, hoping the misnomers would lift the agitation from his dad’s system.

 

It appeared to work. Dean entered the house to see his mom and brother hanging up coats and his dad humming --  _ humming  _ \-- over a newspaper in front of the living room television. Not able to help his perplexed expression, he turned to Mary and Sam, who offered their own baffled but alleviated looks between themselves. He was halfway through taking his tie off when his dad interrupted the comfortable silence.

 

“The widows,” he clarified, not looking up from the papers. “How are they?”

 

“Great,” Dean blurted in front of the hallway mirror. “Mrs. Stein says hi.”

 

John only grunted in reply, clearly engrossed in the news enough to dismiss anything else in relation.

 

Thoughts wandering to the exorcism from the previous week, Dean pondered how badly his dad would react if the conversation took such a drastic turn. He never told Mary about the water bottle; to bring up the upside down cross would be damn near suicidal. Even though the conversation was an itch he was dying to scratch, Dean didn’t want to spoil his father’s recent agreeableness and pliancy. To think Dean usually got a kick out of imagining his dad all riled up. 

 

Seeing him as such had changed his perspective.

 

So he shoved down the urge to ask about anything church related and focused on the present instead.

 

“What’s that song, Dad?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The song you were humming.”

 

John thought for a moment as if the tune flowed out subconsciously. “As Time Goes By. My daddy used to play it on a music box.”

 

“Oh,” Dean puffed. “That’s cool.” Tempted to believe the calm around him, he dragged his tie upstairs and fell face first onto his bed. He decided against closing the door, so he could hear any commotion that might start downstairs. Just in case. He wanted to be able to react at a moment’s notice, should his father snap around Sam or their mom.

 

He was physically exhausted, but his mind would not allow him rest. Everything from the last 24 hours was still fresh and terrifying and uncertain. He had no way of knowing whether this was a one-time thing, or if the dark energy seeping into this house was setting up permanent residence. One thing was for certain: the violent outburst was under the “do not discuss” category. 

 

Unable to calm himself against the possibility of his dad getting physical again, he began his second night in a row of minimal sleep.

 

Dean’s dreams were sporadic but vivid. Clips, really, instead of scenes. In them, he was with Cas, losing himself in pleasure, until a wave of self-reproach washed over him, and the snapshot ended. Come morning, he would not remember a single one -- only the echoes of yearning and a dirty conscience. Feelings, not images. And a wet spot from coming in his sleep.

 

There was the two second clip of Cas pulling on his hair while brutally fucking his mouth. Tears streamed down Dean’s face, his lips were soaked in his own spit, and his throat was raw from screaming. His hole felt open and used, recently split wide by the gorgeous cock currently in his mouth. 

 

Amid the grunting and choking, a memory. Cas’ secret desire, which he confessed over the phone. The act was forbidden. Then, the voice again.

 

_ My labor is forced. _

 

The dream shut down, overtaken by darkness and silence.

 

In a new sequence, they sat together on a porch swing. They were clothed and curled up against each other in the cool spring air. Dean had never seen that porch swing before, but he supposed it must be their happily ever after. 

 

Without warning, a cloaked figure yanked Cas out of his arms, throwing him to the ground and whipping him with a long, thick scourge. 

 

“Up, slave! Work!”

 

Again, darkness.

 

It was hours before Dean dreamed again. But this time, they were upstairs in his room, and the sounds they made would put the porn industry to shame. They gave no heed to the noise level, fucking and moaning as loudly as either pleased. Dean shouted as he came on Cas’ cock, the thick length plowing into him without mercy, even after he finished.

 

Over and over Cas thrust over his prostate, the overstimulation quickly switching from pleasure to pain. Dean grabbed Cas’ shoulders, trying to pull himself away, but the demon holding him could not be swayed.

 

“Cas, stop… I’m… Cas, wait!”

 

The creature held him perfectly still in his tight clutch, claws extending into Dean’s skin, drawing blood that smeared onto the bed sheets. Cas growled low and dark, an animal, a monster to be feared for who he was and the power he wielded.

 

“Please,” Dean sobbed. He had tears on his face in this one, too, but for another reason entirely. “Stop, please, it hurts…”

 

His ass clenched around Cas’ cock defensively, but it held no power over the unholy thing above him. Crying in agony, Dean began to feel light in the head as his abused bundle of nerves dulled against the repeated assaults. He felt sick. His lips were cold and brow was sweaty, like the seconds before throwing up.

 

“Cas, stop,” he begged, barely a whisper, with no strength to attempt more.

 

When he fainted, it was into another bout of darkness.

 

He opened his eyes. He was in the church basement. Cas was with him. “Hey, good-lookin’,” Dean said cheerily. Surrounding them were summoning tools, just like the second time they met. This was a memory.

 

“You have summoned me again,” the demon noted. “On purpose, this time.”

 

Dean nodded shyly. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

 

Cas’ eyes scrutinized him harshly. Dean felt exposed, like the incubus wasn’t conceptualizing that choosing the word “romantic” was mostly a joke. Regardless, Dean cleared his throat and offered a smug grin.

 

“How about that fantasy-land hotel room thing again?”

 

“Very well,” Cas replied dryly. It was weird seeing Cas like he used to be. Distant. Cold. Unattached. Oblivious to love.

 

“And here, afterward?” It was supposed to be a statement, not a question, dammit.

 

Cas swept his eyes across the old, carpeted basement floor. He seemed thoroughly unimpressed, and snapped them away without answering, but Dean had a feeling he’d oblige. And he did, as it turned out. After a few rounds of Dean getting exhaustively fucked.

 

After the memory faded into dreamless sleep, Dean ebbed in and out of consciousness. The ice maker downstairs startled him, but not enough to awaken him fully. He tossed and turned, drifting off again into another clip of passion.

 

Dean was moving inside of him, rocking, rolling lazily. Cas looked up at him as his legs wrapped around Dean’s waist, and what moments they weren’t kissing, they puffed breathy moans while staring into each other’s eyes. Another forbidden wish -- one Dean very much enjoyed imagining.

 

He could almost feel the hot tightness of Cas around him, squeezing him so perfectly. His ass was like heaven -- as close as either of them were getting, if Dean had his way -- and with every deliberate thrust, Cas became just a little more his.

 

Dean awoke with a start, for real this time. His phone was on the pillow, alarm blaring in his ear, and he realized he hadn’t even plugged it in last night. After cutting it off, he rubbed his eyes against the morning light trickling in through his window. The week ahead spoke of school, covering up his bruise, and uncertainty regarding his father’s temper.

 

The sheets beneath him spoke of nicer things, if waking up in a puddle of his own spunk was any indicator. Too bad he couldn’t remember a damn thing. And the heaviness of anonymous guilt laid over him like a blanket, doing nothing for his motivation.

 

Fuck, he really missed Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd the pining begins! Those of you who have so patiently been holding out for some hard-core porn, it's in the next chapter :))) I can't wait until Saturday!!! :D


	9. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Cas out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys deserve a break from all this angst, so here's some smut and fluff! Enjoy <3
> 
> I named the department store Cole's as a play on Kohl's. Cole is a character in S10, as you know, and Kohl's is a department store here in the states. haha, I'm punny. ((please love me)) No trigger warnings for this chapter, since it's mostly just fun, but I added some noteworthy warnings for the kinky stuff. The stuff I've written isn't everybody's cup of tea.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> Power play  
> Consensual non-con  
> Blood play

In a very long line of bad ideas, this was the worst. Dean had one day off this week, and he knew what he wanted to fill it with before he even got his work schedule. He wanted Cas. 

 

Yes, in the way Cas was accustomed to being had, but Dean wasn’t going to push it. That guilty pang grew gradually more numb when he considered Cas’ claim that he actually did enjoy time with Dean, no matter the contents thereof. It wouldn’t change Dean’s previous usage of the trafficking system, and it couldn’t make up for it, but that was then and this was now. 

 

Besides, Cas had benefited from the system, too. Souls touched by his kind of darkness got thrown into limbo, Dean’s included. Their first encounters were far from fairy tale status — both were there to take, not give; to exploit the potential contained in the other — but the bliss they found between them kept pulling them together, despite themselves and everything that stood in the way.

 

Still, Dean couldn’t shake the icky feeling of what he would be doing by pushing Cas toward something sexual. He missed it like hell, but how would he bring that up in casual conversation?  _ Hey, buddy, in case you haven’t had enough ass at work… winky winky, hubba hubba! _ It was a conversation Dean had no idea how to navigate, so he decided against it and settled on letting nature take its course, instead.

 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t want it to happen, though.

 

But then, there was that guilt again. It was a vicious cycle of lust and regret, without as much as the satisfaction of an orgasm — except for that wet dream from the other night. He liked to think that his subconscious was creating visions of Cas. It was going to have to do, for now. On his one day off this week, he would be content having Cas in any capacity. No matter what, Dean was simply looking forward to being with him, everywhere.

 

After a Sunday night of hand shaking time, offering plates, and someone in the back row snoring, Dean had a long time to think about his and Cas’ meeting in the bathroom. The look in the creature’s face when Dean revealed the reason behind his injury, he would not soon forget. Cas looked pissed as hell. That, and a turbulent mix of culpable, compassionate, and resolute. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone pitying him, but the look Cas gave him… He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t that.

 

And so here he was on a nippy Thursday afternoon, out buying Cas clothes and sunglasses for their day out together.

 

It sounded nuts in his head, but actually doing it was bordering on insane. He didn’t know Cas’ size, or if the incubus had ever put on clothes, so he eyeballed it and smiled as the cashier handed him his bag. Once in the department store bathroom, he made the call. 

 

“Hello, dear human.”

 

“Cas, I’m off tonight and want to spend it with you.”

 

“That sounds agreeable. Are you at home?”

 

“No, I’m in a bathroom.”

 

“Oh, at church, then?”

 

“No,” Dean said in a hushed tone as someone came in and stopped in front of the urinal by his stall. “I’m at Cole’s. It’s a store.”

 

“Why do you want to spend the day together in a men’s restroom at a store?”

 

“You’ll see, just… Get here.”

 

Cas ended the call, leaving Dean to the awkward silence of a public restroom, interrupted occasionally by someone pissing, washing up, and leaving. Someone else walked in, and Dean rocked back and forth absently, wondering what was taking Cas so long this time. His thoughts were interrupted by the man on the other side of the stall screaming. Dean looked up in horror to see Cas perched atop the stall wall.

 

“Cas,” Dean hissed, waving him down. “Get the hell down here. What the hell, man?”

 

Cas only seemed minorly concerned about the man wailing just a few short feet away. He hopped down and the two waited inches away from each other as the man composed himself. Dean’s clamped his palm over Cas’ mouth as they waited for the danger to pass.

 

“Dude,” the frightened man slurred to himself, “these mushrooms got me trippin’, man.”

 

The bathroom door swung open. “Hey bud, I heard you yelling. You okay?”

 

“Man, I just saw a fuckin’ dragon. Did you see? It was sitting up there.”

 

“Yeah,” the other voice drew out disbelievingly. “Okay, buddy. Let’s get you outta here.”

 

Once the door shut, Dean released Cas and broke into a smile. There was never a day when Cas’ otherworldly appearance didn’t take his breath away. The demon was all horns and scales and wings. He was gorgeous. Dean thought back to the night they met. Everyone else was so terrified of him. Cas did have the appearance that could strike fear into the hearts of men, he supposed, but all Dean saw was beauty and wonder. Or maybe he was just in lo—

 

“Cas,” Dean said again, sweeter this time. Adoringly. Full of promise.

 

“Hello,” Cas replied, like he wanted to complete the sentence with a name, but stopped himself.

 

Dean’s smile fell. He ran his hands over the scales lining Cas’ neck, and the demon leaned into the touch. “Say my name." It was meant as a request, but came out more like a plea.

 

“No.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I care about you too much.”

 

Instead of arguing, Dean pressed their bodies together against the stall wall and clung onto Cas like letting go would undo everything they had ever done together. This wasn’t why Dean called him, but since they were there, he wouldn’t waste the moment. Cas returned the hug and smelled Dean’s neck, who coiled against his hot breaths with a giggle.

 

“I got you something,” Dean said as he pulled away. Cas watched curiously as Dean rummaged through the large plastic bag, first pulling out a pair of Batman boxer briefs. “Put ‘em on.” When Cas cocked his head, Dean rolled his eyes and unzipped his jeans so he could show Cas the finished product. “Like this. You pull them up your legs.”   
  


If Dean had the forethought to video a demon dressing himself, he would have, because he would have wanted to save it on his phone and watch it every day. It took Cas three tries to get his first leg in without tipping over, and another two to step into the other. Dean offered his shoulder for stability, which proved unstable due to his laughter-induced wobbling.

 

“I don’t understand,” said Cas after he pulled the fabric to his hips. “Why do I have to wear human undergarments?”

 

Dean finished off his giggling with a sigh and pulled the new pair of sweatpants out of the bag. “Because you’re wearing a whole outfit. Not grounded anymore, so we’re going into town today.”

 

Cas’ eyes flashed brighter. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“You showed yourself to Magic Mushroom Mike over there, and didn’t seem too worried.”

 

“People under the influence of drugs see strange things anyway.” When Dean turned a brow up at him, Cas included an addendum. “I’ve been summoned quite a few times by people taking hallucinogens and psychedelics.” He took the gray sweats Dean dangled in front of his face and stepped into them with slightly less trouble.

 

“I got you the comfiest pants in the store,” Dean assured him. “I figured you’d probably stick your nose up at anything stiff or scratchy.”

 

Cas pulled at the drawstring, which Dean took upon himself to tie. “They’re making me warm.”

 

“Yeah, it’s cold out. Sue me. Now fold up your wings and put this shirt on.” He pulled out a black AC/DC shirt, which Cas figured out faster than he anticipated, but the sight of him took Dean’s breath away. Cas’ dark hair and bright eyes coupled with the black shirt was… arousing. And knowing the barely contained power of his wings laid just underneath a thin layer of fabric... 

 

He shook himself out of the stupor and swallowed hard as he concentrated on digging socks out of his bag. He could’ve brought a spare pair from his dresser, but he hoped this wasn’t the last time they’d do this, so he decided to get Cas his own.

 

Dean ended up having to help out with the socks. He was most nervous about the shoes, which he found to be too big once he told Cas to wiggle his toes. He put them back in the box to exchange them, then pulled out a pair of sunglasses and hoodie. The sunglasses covered most of Cas’ glow, and the hoodie hid his horns. Pleased with his work, Dean gave a short nod and opened the stall door.

 

Finding Cas’ shoe size proved to be easy enough, and the two left the store with a newfound sense of adventure. Dean unlocked the passenger door of the Impala and watched with a smirk as Cas sat down. Something welled up inside him — like he wanted to show Cas the world, run away with him, never to look back. Only, he actually did want to run away with him. He wanted to belong to him forever; to have their souls bound for an eternity of love; to be rid of his small, messed up world full of hypocrisy and instead live for something he knew was real. He would never go to heaven, but at least he’d be with the one person that actually mattered.

 

“Where are we going?” Cas asked, visibly unfamiliar with sitting upright in a car.

 

“I thought we could just ride around,” Dean replied as he fired up the engine. While tapping the steering wheel in amusement, Dean watched Cas shift around in his seat, like he couldn’t quite get the angle right. “You alright there, Gilligan?”

 

“That’s not my name.”

 

“No, I was,” Dean stumbled. “I was making a reference… You’re Gilligan and I’m Skipper… Gilligan’s Island? No? Okie dokie.” Dean eventually trailed off once he saw Cas’ unwavering look of absolute loss. After pulling out of the parking lot, the two relaxed into the constant hum of the engine and methodically winding road. “What’s new with you this week?”

 

“I’ve been quite busy.”

  
  
Dean chewed the inside of his cheek. “Business as usual?”

 

“No.”

 

“Uh, is that bad?”

 

Cas glanced over, the true glow of his eyes peeking out from the sides of the sunglasses. “It won’t be bad for you, once I’m done.”

 

Dean’s heart lifted. “What’s that mean?”

 

“I’m trying to get the demon out of your house.”

 

It wasn’t what Dean was hoping for, but it surprised him just the same. “You… you’d do that for me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Pursing his lips, Dean pondered how complicated it must be to go back on a portal deal. “Is it a lot of trouble?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He swallowed. And procrastinated. Then, finally caved. “Cas, do you um… Do you want to be with me?”

 

Cas did not answer. Instead, he fiddled with the drawstrings tangled in his lap. Dean reached across the seat and grabbed his left hand. 

 

“Hey, I know demon deals and the chain of command is more complicated than fucking in a shower, but you’ve gotta throw me a bone, Cas. ‘Cause I’m ready to leave everything behind for you. I’m already chomping at the bit to get away from my goddamn religious freak dad, plus —”

 

“That’s just it,” Cas interrupted flatly. “You are so young, human, and I am very old. You cannot conceptualize the length and breadth of eternity as I do. Completing the bonding process will affect the rest of your existence.”

 

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the point.”

 

“But you are doing it for the wrong reasons. You want to get away from your family. That is a poor reason, and will soon lead to regret. I do not want that for you.”

 

“But Cas, come on. I’m proving myself to you,” Dean explained. “I’m keeping it in my pants, and it’s not even that hard. Pun not intended! You know why?” Cas looked over. “Because I genuinely want to be with you, and I’ll wait as long as I have to in order to prove it.” When Cas kept his gaze, Dean pulled over into the back of a big box store parking lot, where the only vehicles around were semi-tractor trailers staying there between loads. “If you didn’t want to bond with me, why are you giving up that portal?”

 

Cas slumped further into the seat. He grasped onto Dean’s hand, warring with himself over his words. “I do want to bond myself to you, human.”

 

Dean’s heart leapt at the confession.

 

“Call me Dean,” he begged, reaching out with his other hand, which didn’t quite reach because of his seat belt. “Please, Cas. You feel it, don’t you? There’s something special about us.”

 

“Yes,” Cas said with a small smile. “I feel it. It reaches from the deepest sea and to the highest mountain. Like the universe itself is pulling us towards each other. It’s deeply-rooted into our being. It’s profound.”

 

“Alright Shakespeare, I get it, we have a profound bond and you’re a damn poet and,” Dean’s voice cracked. “Anybody ever call you romantic?”

 

Cas glanced around as if looking for an example of such in the recesses of his memories. “I’ve been told I can eat ass like a porn star.”

 

“Me, Cas. I told you that.”

 

“Does that count?”

 

Dean blinked. “Nope.”

 

Cas let Dean’s hand go, attempting to push himself against the seat so his back could lay flat against the cushion. Since the mood was forever ruined, Dean shifted back into drive and got back onto the main road. If he had Cas all dressed up, he sure as hell wasn't wasting it. He took the shortcut to Old West, running through the possibilities of their night on the town.

 

“I’m going to show you the wonders of Lawrence,” Dean announced, taking a sharp right turn onto a one-way street. They had a long night ahead, and he was going to spoil Cas rotten.

 

The bakery was quaint, with a striped awning and worn wooden door. It was smashed between a boutique and record store, a testament to the longevity of the most-loved stops in town. Cas got a couple of weird looks once they stepped in, but Dean kept him on track by gripping his forearm and leading him to the counter.

 

Displayed behind glass beneath the cash register lay row after row of every sweet thing that could make one’s mouth water. Cupcakes, pastries, pound cake loaves, and pies lined up to be ogled and bought, with more selections in plastic cases at eye-level. At the end of the counter sat a cake stand with a dome of glass protecting the freshly baked cherry pie within.

 

“Dean!” a voice from behind the counter interrupted the pair’s gawking. The associate was just coming out from the back, wiping his floury hands on a hand towel.

 

“Adam,” Dean acknowledged favorably.

 

The younger teen’s eyes drifted to his customer’s side for a split second, and Dean realized he was still holding onto Cas. Slowly letting his arm fall, he slipped his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat stiffly.

 

“Since when did you start working here?”

 

“Just a few weeks back. The pastor put in a good word for me,” Adam replied with a smile, giving no further mind to where Dean’s hands were. “It’s a lot of fun. The pie on the stand is mine.”

 

“Well then, in that case, I’m gonna need two slices, please.”

 

“On it,” he nodded before his boss, a short, scruffy man in all black except the white apron, burst into the front of the store with a tray of cake pops. He was absolutely covered in splotches of flour, but one look at him suggested he was too stubborn to adjust his wardrobe.

 

“Your turnovers are burning back there, Milligan,” the man scolded, brash and British.

 

“Sorry, Mr. Crowley. I’ll get them.”

 

Dean’s brows furrowed. “I thought Nick ran the joint,” he piped up as Adam retreated to the back to salvage what he could of the turnovers.

 

“Under new management,” Crowley clipped. 

 

“You haven’t changed the pie crust recipes, have you?”

 

“Relax, nothing about the recipes have changed. In fact,” Crowley paused to raise a tray of samples. “I’ve added on a delightful strawberry rhubarb cobbler.”

 

Dean skeptically took two tiny cups and plastic spoons. He handed one set to Cas, who stood motionless as he waited to copy whatever Dean was about to do. Scooping up the majority of the gooey, crumbly sample, he took his bite and dropped the trash into the bin beside the counter.

 

The incubus peered down at the foreign objects, eyes shielded by the sunglasses but noticeably confused. Duplicating Dean’s fluid movements in choppy motions of his own, he stabbed the cobbler with his spoon before raising it to his nose. After a long sniff, he stuck his tongue out and started, for lack of a better word, making out with the spoon.

 

He lapped at the red goo and brown crumbles passionately. When the spoon was clean, he licked the remnants off his lips and stuck his tongue into the small cup, tilting it up to slide every last bit into his eager mouth. Sustenance such as this was unnecessary to creatures like him, so he never gave much thought to trying it, but after this taste, he might enjoy more of it in the future. Cup empty and rhubarb smeared across his mouth in a perfect circle, he released the paper cup and looked up to Dean for approval, and possibly more cobbler.

 

Dean glanced over, mostly amused, if not slightly mortified. His eyes dragged over to Crowley, who stood behind the counter with his sample tray and an indecipherable expression. After a couple of blinks and clearing his throat, the bakery owner gave a curt smile and lowered the tray out of reach.

 

“A bit gauche, that one,” Crowley mumbled under his breath as Adam came to the front once more.

 

Dean was about to comment on that when Adam grabbed two to-go pie slice boxes and a brown paper bag. “Anything else for you guys?”

 

“That’s it,” Dean replied as he tossed the memorized amount onto the counter. 

 

Adam slid the second slice of pie into its box when he did a double take at Cas. “You’ve got a… um…” He motioned around his mouth, then grabbed a napkin. “Here you go.”

 

“Thank you,” came Cas’ first words since stepping foot into the bakery. He seemed unsure of what to do with the napkin, so Dean took it and the paper bag before nodding his thanks to Adam and leading Cas to a small table.

 

Once seated, Dean could concentrate on wiping Cas’ face. He chuckled, thinking to himself how awkward it must be for Cas to be thrown into human interaction without as much as a walkthrough first. He couldn’t make out Cas’ exact expression with the presence of his sunglasses, but he could hear the uneasiness in his voice.

 

“Did I do it wrong?”

 

Dean crumpled up the napkin. “Nah man, you did fine. Those little plastic spoons can get tricky.”

 

“I have never had human food before.”

 

The statement stopped him before he could flip the box lid. He should’ve known Cas was out of his element, but now he felt bad. “I should’ve shown you what to do first.”

 

Cas disagreed, but the pie in front of him looked too delicious to hold off with any sort of argument. After copying the posture of Dean’s fork in his hand and once again stabbing the contents of his container, he put the bite in his mouth without overuse of his tongue.

 

“Whataya think?” Dean mumbled while chewing. “Adam’s got a gift. Dude knows his pies.”

 

Cas nodded enthusiastically, smacking the pie filling off the roof of his mouth but withholding from speaking just yet. He had a sneaking suspicion the food wouldn’t stay in his mouth if he tried to talk while eating. Being the quick study he was, he observed the way Dean ran the fork through closed lips to clear off as much pie as possible. He got the hang of it in no time.

 

The day might’ve been short, but their night was just beginning. As the sun set, Cas and Dean rolled out of the historic district and into the part of town popular for hang outs. Cas stared wide-eyed at the bright lights, scrolling marquee signs, and billboards all lighting up in the darkening streets. Although Dean knew he couldn’t allow him to take the shades off in public, it was considered a tiny bit douchey to wear them inside. That is, unless they were somewhere no one would be looking at him.

 

Time to be ungodly and go to the movie theater.

 

They sat in the top row, with Cas’ sunglasses off and both sets of feet resting on the headrests in front of them. Of course they did; the place was empty except them, so why not? And if anyone came in after it started, they couldn’t sit behind them and chew loudly. Under other circumstances, Dean might have chosen the spot for ease of instigating carnal activities. Not this time. The thing about forced prostitution kept ringing in his ears. 

 

When Cas took notice of their solitude and grazed his fingers over Dean’s leg, his adamant resolve was compromised. The touch was welcomed and wanted but set off red alerts. It sucked, wanting it so badly and yet, being so conflicted. Cas’ hand moved further into his thighs, and Dean had to do something about it before the temptation became too much.

 

“Hey,” he whispered. “You don’t need to do that. I’m not here to get into your pants.”

 

Cas scooted closer, lips ghosting over his ear. “But what if I wanted to?”

 

The puffs of air sent bolts of want rushing to his dick. Short as it was, the sentence told Dean all he needed to know. He wasn’t a selfish bastard for wanting Cas, after all. For all his pining and self-restraint, he wasn’t just denying pleasure to himself. He was denying it to Cas.

 

Son of a bitch, he had some lost time to make up for.

 

Dean turned to the mouth already so close to his. Right there. His inviting mouth and pointed tongue, it was all right there. The attraction hit Dean in waves, pulsating against his rapidly diminishing will. He inched closer, fighting against the flimsy remnants of a guilty conscience.

 

“Wait,” he snapped, pulling back suddenly. “You’re not pulling some woo-woo incubus crap on me, right? And you’re not gonna bite me, like that one time, are you?”

 

“No, I only did that at the beginning because it’s what we’re told to do in circumstances that require a human to submit. I stopped doing that to you after the first time we had sex at your house. And besides, this is not work-related.” For just a moment, deep sapphire pierced through shining electric blue. Cas’ sunglasses had come off as soon as they were sure they were the only ones in the theater, so the shift in color was bright and obvious. “I want this. I want you.”

 

It was the express permission Dean needed to let go of his inhibitions once and for all. Finally giving in, Dean lunged forward, latching onto Cas’ mouth and pulling him back. The charged tension pulled them together like two poles of a magnet, rendering their lips inseparable. Cas felt so, so good on him. Dean had missed this. Letting go, allowing himself to be free and needy and vulnerable. His body ached for it, and his head pulsed with every feel-good hormone as they devoured each other. The longer they kissed, the stronger their hold; a thousand hopes and wishes poured into their locked lips, telling the unspoken story of all the crimes of their love. 

 

Cas leaned over Dean’s seat, struggling over cup holders and folding cushions until they were pressed flush against one another, chest to chest, grasping at each other and the surrounding seats for stability. Floundering around in the dark ended with them on the floor between two rows, desperate for  _ more  _ — more hands, more tongue, more skin.

 

The rest of Cas’ clothes were the next items to be tossed aside. Dean enjoyed every second of discarding the new shirt, shoes, and pants, laughing to himself as the dim light outlined human clothes, removed to reveal iridescent black scales and horns from the pit of hell. His mouth fell open in reverie at the sight of Cas’ pink cock seeping out from its scaled sheath. Dean licked his lips, eyes locked onto it, leaning forward, not thinking, and Cas held him back.

 

“You can’t,” he warned quietly. It was much sadder than last time. “I can’t accept favors in return.”

 

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean muttered. “What can I do? I want to give you something. Please, let me. I want to. It’s different when it isn’t work, right?”

 

“No, it isn’t.” Cas pushed down on Dean’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back, where he promptly began undressing him. “A step toward total soulbond is just that, whether I do it under forced labor or for my own amusement.”

 

Dean lifted his arms so Cas could pull off his shirt. He felt his eyes welling up. Why did his life have to be so goddamn complicated? Why did thinking of Cas make him think of words like Forever, and All Yours, and… the big L word? And why did Cas have to be so selfless about it? 

 

Cas leaned over him on his elbows, clawed hands moving through his hair and framing his face. He turned Dean’s cheek and ever so slightly ran his fingers over Dean’s bruise. It was a sickly yellow now, but faint enough for most people to mistake it for the result of a run-in with a household object. He hadn’t bothered covering it with his mom’s makeup.

 

“Does this hurt?” Cas asked.

 

Truthfully, it did, but Dean gritted his teeth to keep from grimacing. He would gladly take Cas’ touch in whatever form it took. “It’s fine.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Dean caught Cas’ hand when he dropped it from his face. “I’m already busted up, Cas. In more ways than one. At this point, every second with you is an improvement from what I’ve got back home. You aren’t hurting me, man. You’re saving me.”

 

When Dean let Cas’ hand go, it wandered down to Dean’s waist, which Cas traced with a claw as he followed the motions with his mouth. Dean sighed and squirmed under the light touch, hoping for more without a word. Cas’ hands were like static electricity on his skin, leaving sparks of desire and pulling their atoms closer together. His warm breath set fire to the wet trail his tongue left, and Dean arched his back for more. 

 

It was only then he realized, at some point in their relationship, Cas had stopped using pheromones and venom. No more woo-woo incubus crap meant this shit was all-natural. Dean’s yearnings for him and only him weren’t manufactured after all.

 

He really loved this creature.

 

And he knew as clearly as he knew his own name, that Cas felt the same way.

 

“Cas?” The creature responded by humming against Dean’s lower stomach, to which he lifted Cas’ chin to meet his eyes. “This floor is nasty.”

 

With a snap of his fingers, Cas transported Dean to another dimension. Like the hotel room, this was a figment of Dean’s imagination, a fantasy. Cas was ridiculously good at jumping to these scenes. Even the air was crisp and clean. They were reclining in a hot tub, on the porch of the highest cabin in the Smoky Mountains. The full moon flickered across the jetting water, the engine’s low rumble hiding most of the sounds they were yet to make. Cas was straddling Dean’s lap, and smirked at Dean’s pleased look.

 

“You came up with this fantasy not long ago,” Cas said knowingly. “And you imagined it for —”

 

“You,” Dean finished, catching Cas’ lips in a surprise kiss. “I wanted to create a fantasy for me and you. I was looking at cabins online this week while at work. I saw this one and thought, man, if I can ever get outta this town, I’m taking Cas here. And we are going to bang on every single piece of furniture. I was especially looking forward to this, though.” He laid back against the hot tub, steam mixing with cool air. “Do you like it?”

 

Cas drank in his surroundings. It was perfect. But what he found hardest to believe was that a human like Dean would think all this up, right up to the last detail, for  _ him _ . It wasn’t a borrowed scene from his imaginary nights with someone else. This was  _ his _ . Dean felt bad about not giving him anything, but no one had ever given Cas something as intimate as this. His stomach twinged as he thought of what he must mean to this wondrous human. There was only one way Dean would ever want Cas to repay him for such devotion, and it was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to do. 

 

“I love it,” he replied in earnest.

 

It was the first time Dean ever heard Cas say the word love. His eyes widened in delight. Although he would much rather prefer Cas replace the word “it” with “you”, he liked to think of it as an extension of such. Perhaps this was the closest Cas could get to say such a thing. This was, after all, inside of his mind. If he thought about it hard enough, Cas could really be saying _ I love you _ . The reply made his heart skip as it was, so he was content.

 

When Dean shifted in the seat, he felt his own hardened cock colliding with Cas’ from his spot on his lap. Taking Cas’ shoulders in his hands, he pulled him to his ear and graveled, “I want you to fuck me so hard, the movie theater employees feel it.”

 

A lecherous smile crept across Cas’ face. “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

With a splash that sent a wave sloshing down the porch, Cas stood up and pulled Dean with him. He turned him onto his stomach, bending him over the edge of the hot tub and used his ankles to spread Dean’s legs apart. Dean grinned at the rough motions. At long last, he would be taken. Manhandled. Owned by this powerful creature.

 

“Cas, don’t you get mushy back there,” he warned. “You know in my daydreams you split me wide open with that gorgeous cock of yours.”

 

The response vibrated through his skin as Cas ran his pointed teeth down Dean’s back. “I am aware, and I am capable of so much more than you imagined.”

 

Dean’s eyes shut at the tingling sensation of the demon’s fangs grazing his skin. He shuddered at the thought of Cas sinking them into him. “Then show me.”

 

Quicker than Dean even thought possible, Cas slammed his full length into Dean’s ass, causing his back to arch in surprise. Cas’ cock was hot and slick, and entered him with mind-numbing ease. Immediately he began hammering in and out, holding onto Dean’s hips with elongated claws. 

 

Cas’ pace was brutal and ungentlemanly — the very thing Dean was hoping for. He rocked his hips in time with the thrusts, breath shallow and vision blurring under Cas’ intense fucking. He felt Cas in every inch of his body, from his dizzying head to his curling toes. In and out he plunged, and Dean moaned in need as he reached for his own disregarded member. 

 

“No,” Cas ordered, slapping away his hand. “I want you to come on my cock. Can you be a good, obedient boy and do that?”

 

Cas bent Dean even sharper over the hot tub, adjusting the angle and touching his bundle of nerves on every pass. If Dean’s subsequent yelp was any indication, he was already well on his way. His legs shook under Cas’ tight clutch, so the incubus stepped close enough for his pelvis to be flush with Dean’s ass and continued forcing himself as far in as Dean’s abused hole would take him. 

 

“Harder, Cas,” came the words Cas couldn’t believe. “Your cock is so fucking good. Come on, Cas. I know I can come untouched. On your cock alone. Fuck me. Do it.”

 

With a low growl, Cas lifted Dean’s ass into the air and buried himself to the hilt, driving himself in short, deep strokes. Dean moaned beneath him, his tired body unable to keep up with meeting his thrusts. He depended solely on Cas’ strong, capable arms holding him, the blood rushing to his head from the odd angle the only thing keeping him from becoming lightheaded. His balls tightened more by the second, and soon he was needing, imploring, screaming for release. 

 

“Cas, I’m so close! Just a few more… that’s it… right there… oh god…”

 

Cas had slowed down his pace, now pulling almost all the way out and plunging back in. The deliberate strokes raised Dean’s sensitivity, building him higher and higher until he finally fell over the edge. His eyes squinted shut as he huffed through his orgasm, ropes of come shooting onto his chest and the porch below. He chuckled as the oxytocin rushed through his body, igniting every nerve with warm satisfaction. 

 

“Again,” he breathed as Cas began to pull out. He turned around to show Cas his chest and stomach painted with his own release. “Fuck me again, Cas.”

 

Instead of immediately obeying, Cas stared at Dean’s chest with lust-blown eyes before licking a long stripe from his belly button to his clavicle. The vertical line upward collected a mouthful of cooling come, which he made a show of rolling along his pointed tongue before swallowing. Dean gulped as the sight played before him, and he plunged his tongue into Cas’ mouth to catch whatever taste of himself he could before it all slid down Cas’ throat. 

 

The kiss they shared was a reflection of the carnal appetite they shared — aggressive and selfish and ravenous. Cas’ bared fangs ran along Dean’s puckered lips. He moaned at the sensation, head dizzying with desire all over again. He tugged on Cas’ hair in an effort to pull him closer. 

 

“Bite me,” he puffed between gasps. 

 

The incubus kissed the corners of Dean’s open mouth. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

 

“I do, now. I want you to bite me and then use me like a fucking rag doll. Please, Cas, do it.”

 

Without words, Cas licked the kiss-swollen ribbon of Dean’s lips before trailing down to his neck, where he sucked a bright red mark to make Dean groan in anticipation. When he threw his head to the side to expose more of his neck, Cas took the hint and sank his fangs deep into his flesh, drawing blood and pumping in venom. 

 

Dean gasped at the welcomed feeling, then sunk into Cas’ arms as paralysis took him. The venom ribboned through his bloodstream, its warmth and high taking him inch by delicious inch. He felt everything. The cold air biting at his skin, his arm hairs sticking up, the chill up his back. He felt his own body begin to respond to the initial panic loss of control brought, but it soon dissolved into placidity, which then turned to eagerness and desire. Cas carried him out of the bubbling hot tub and inside, still dripping, where he laid Dean on the couch overlooking the mountainscape. He turned Dean’s head to the side so he could see the view as he held Dean’s ankles together in mid-air.

 

Kneeling behind his ass, Cas held Dean’s ankles high enough to have perfect access to his red, open hole. He slid in, taking a moment to glance outside at the scenery Dean chose for him before fucking him once more. Dean was boneless beneath him, relying wholly on Cas for all movement. When Dean’s eyes strained to meet his, Cas turned his face back upwards so they could see each other. 

 

“I enjoy looking at you when I fuck you,” Cas said as he pushed into him, slow and languid this time. “I enjoy looking at you anytime. Your eyes hold the rebirth of springtime, the evergreen of winter. Your freckles are constellations of life kissed upon you by the sun. You are perfect.”

 

Although unable to move, Dean’s cheeks turned bright pink at the beautiful words. 

 

Pausing from using the ass beneath him, Cas leaned down and pressed his lips to Dean’s chest. “I could spend eternity kissing each tiny speck on your skin. And when I’m finished, I’d send you back into the sun to collect more. And then I’d start over again, just for another reason to kiss you.”

 

The most Dean could do was let out a shaky sigh. The tips of his ears reddened as Cas worked his way up to his face, eyes darting under Dean’s lashes as he noted the vast number of freckles there. Dean’s eyes flitted shut as Cas kissed the side of his nose. 

 

“Would you like that, my dearest? If I spent forever showing you how beautiful you are?”

 

Dean mouthed something, but the venom was still too strong to force out any tone. Cas ran his clawed thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, taking advantage of exploring him without consequence. He licked every inch of his mouth, nipping and sucking his lips as he went. Dean smiled as Cas covered his lips with saliva, the sweet taste enough to leave him begging for more. 

 

“You might think I am the only one with magical qualities,” Cas continued. “You underestimate yourself, human. In all my years roaming the earth, I’ve never met another as entrancing as you. You have me under your spell. Every hour of every day, I imagine our next meeting, and I always come when you call.”

 

When Cas sat up to resume his thrusts, he quickened the pace, making full use of his venom’s heightened sensory impact by sliding his fist up and down Dean’s shaft at the same tempo. He held him firmly, squeezing tighter at the tip, alert to all queues Dean gave him that he was getting close again. Cas could smell the blood pulsing into his cock, and its purple-red hue only confirmed the level of arousal he had reached. He felt Dean’s body temperature rise, tasted his sweat seeping into the air. 

 

He had total control over Dean’s body. The human couldn’t stop him from taking him over and over, abusing his hole until he couldn’t walk. Dean’s willingness was intoxicating, and Cas reveled in the thought of this human, his special human, giving up autonomy voluntarily. With a thick purr, Cas mouthed over the bite mark once again, injecting more venom and pulling away to show off the glistening blood on his teeth.

 

He fucked Dean through an orgasm, pausing to pull out and lick his shaft back to life with his sweet saliva. The mixed spit and blood marbled along Dean’s length. He couldn’t see it, but Cas could, and it was a vision. The human was wrecked, his paralyzed mouth slightly agape and eyes that did all the screaming his voice could not. He was beautiful. 

 

Cas raked hungry eyes over his lover — this incredible, selfless human, with whom his soul craved to be conjoined — and lowered himself into his ass again. Dean’s eyes rolled back wordlessly as Cas handled him rough and heavy. Like a toy to be used up, ruined. It was what Dean requested, and Cas was not going to disappoint.

 

Dean came all over his stomach, his voice returning to him mid-stream. Everything he felt was so intense. He sobbed into the aftershocks, not wanting the pulsing heat and fuzzy feeling in his head to stop. After trying and failing to move his body, he relaxed against the couch cushion as Cas wiped him off with a throw blanket.

 

“Your name is ever on the tip of my tongue,” Cas confessed. He sat on the couch arm opposite of Dean. “And mine begs for your lips to speak it. But you are too good for a creature like me. You do not deserve an eternity of being bound to a demon. You must understand, wondrous human, the reason that I do not begin the bonding ritual — it’s not because I don’t adore you. It’s because I do. Do you understand, human?”

 

Dean swallowed back every other word he wanted to spew out at such nonsense, and focused instead on the only one that mattered. “D-Dean.”

 

Cas hung his head, and just for a moment, his tongue sat behind his teeth, poised for the sound to flow out. He shook his head and clamped his lips shut, covering them with his hand so it wouldn’t slip out. Cas couldn’t help the immensely sad glance he gave to Dean.

 

“C-Cas,” the human stuttered, slowly pulling out of the paralysis. “Say it. Please. S-say my… name. Wanna be yours.”

 

Once again, Cas shut his eyes, willing himself against the temptation. Dean’s imploring tugged at him like marionette strings, and it was all he could do to keep that blessed name behind closed lips. With its utterance would come the beginning of the end for the human. Each step of the bondship held no reversal, which only encouraged Dean on, but Cas couldn’t condemn such a pure soul to such a fate.

 

“Dammit, Cas. It’s m-my choice.” He had recovered enough to form complete sentences now, and was slowly sliding up onto the couch arm. “You think you know what’s… what’s best for me. So does every other goddamn person in my life over twenty. If I wanna fuck up my soul, let me. What have I got to lose, huh?”

 

“Your life can be so much different,” Cas fought. “After you move out of your father’s house, you can be free to choose another path. There will be nothing tying you to your heritage of holy men, and nothing tying you to me, either. You can live a magnificent human life with another human of your liking. You could be bound to no one. Or you could have many partners. Your life is a long root system of choices, each leading to more possibilities, on and on until it ends. With me, you only get one choice. All others are taken away.”

 

Dean used every ounce of strength to sit up and stumble forward, into Cas’ space. He clumsily grabbed the incubus and pulled him over him, hands wandering from his winged back to scaled neck. He looked up at the daunting creature above him but felt only solace and peace.

 

“I don’t want any other choices, you ass. I choose you.”

 

When Dean pulled Cas’ face down to his, it was with every bit of fervency he could muster out while working through the last threads of incubus venom. The kiss they shared was deep and needy, punctuated by smaller kisses that sent sparks straight to their cores. For Dean, it was comforting, because it was the only place he felt unconditionally loved. For Cas, it was terrifying; while he never wanted to lose this alien sentiment of feeling something for a human in return, he warred with himself. Could a mortal truly be capable of such far-reaching love?

 

“You would change your mind,” Cas said between kisses, “if you saw just how wicked I am. The evil I do every day.”

 

“Then, show me. Change my mind,” Dean dared him. “Have a ‘take your boyfriend to work day’.”

 

A rush of blood colored Cas’ cheeks at the title.  _ Boyfriend.  _ After one more kiss, he wandered down Dean’s body to give him one last orgasm, this time courtesy of his mouth. When he ran his tongue along his shaft, Dean hummed in assent and gripped Cas’ wild hair. He sucked the tip unexpectedly tight, smiling with enjoyment when Dean grunted and jutted his hips up in response.

 

“Your soul would have to temporarily leave your body to visit the spiritual realm,” Cas paused to point out, breathing on Dean’s sensitive cock. It twitched at every puff of air. Unable to deny himself the leaking precome any longer, Cas bobbed down on his full length, sucking the air out and swallowing around his head.

 

“Oh shit,” Dean gasped at the tightness around his tip. “Then teach me how and I’ll do it. I’ll just — ah fuck, Cas. The things you can do with that tongue.” He sucked in a stream of air as Cas kept surrounding his cock with warmth and wetness, slipping off to tongue at the slit before going all the way back down. “I’ll just watch and learn.”

 

Maybe this is what Dean needed to finally see the err of his ways. “Very well,” Cas conceded. He ran his fingertips along Dean’s balls while swallowing him down, gently kneading them as Dean pushed himself further into his mouth. Dean’s entire body jolted as his orgasm surged through him, and Cas caught every drop of his spend down his throat. He could make Dean come again with just a bit more secreted saliva, but he popped off with a pucker and raised his human’s exhausted body.

 

Now sitting face to face, the two shared a blissed-out stare. Each toyed with the idea of starting up again, but decided instead to finish off with one last kiss. It was wholesome and concluding, like the happy ending in a play. Once they parted lips, Dean had fully recuperated, and used his regained strength to climb into Cas’ lap. He grimaced against the post-rough sex soreness as he moved.

 

“Are you gonna introduce me to your workmates? I gotta know what to wear to make a good impression. Maybe I’ll buy a new shirt.”

 

“I think it would be better if you weren’t visible,” Cas said. “After all, your soul is quite the topic of discussion on the other side. Beings more malevolent than myself will not hesitate to start a fight over you.”

 

“Damn,” Dean smirked. “I’ve never been so popular in my life.”

 

“Even so, I would rather not have to make things more complicated for you than they already are. You’ll be safest in hiding.”

 

Dean furrowed his brows. “Hiding, as in…?”

 

“As in, your soul watching from the safety of my mind’s eye.”

 

“Not the way I imagined being inside you, but I’ll take it. For now.” He flashed his brows up flirtatiously.

 

Cas tried to prevent his smile with an eye roll, but it was a massive failure. What was this human being doing to him? For weeks he tried to convince himself that he didn’t need to fall for the first mortal to touch him with more than just need for their own release. But as the weeks turned into months, he realized it didn’t matter which other humans could be kind, because he wanted this one. 

 

Was he relieved or heartbroken that this glimpse Dean would take into his world might end everything? No one in their right minds would choose someone like him. Thankfully, Dean would see the sense of Cas’ words of caution after the revelation. Unfortunately, that probably meant the end of their interactions. But if Dean learned his lesson from all of this and continued with his human life full of potential, it would be worth it for Cas. After all, he only wanted Dean to be happy.

 

“We can go on the next day you are free from your regular responsibilities,” Cas suggested.

 

“You sure we can’t do it tonight?”

 

“Jumping out of one’s own body can be exhausting. I don’t want you to over-exert on the eve of a day full of school and work. Especially after doing so much today.”

 

Dean bit back the impulse to call him a mother hen. “I guess we should get back before someone finds our clothes all over the movie theater floor.”

 

Cas snapped his fingers, and a pile of laundry fell into their laps. Dean laughed as he pulled out his underwear, finding Cas’ Batman ones in the process. Finding new ways to take Dean by surprise was amusing, and although he didn’t quite understand the vastness of human humor, doing unexpected things sometimes fell into that category. He smiled in delight at the success of lifting Dean’s mood.

 

“Call me anytime,” Cas said as Dean dressed himself. “For this, or for just a visit… anything.”

 

Dean’s shoulders fell slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I know you’re required to for work, but you never have to with me.”

 

“I want to. You are the only one I want.”

 

The guilt eating at Dean’s gut alleviated. As the words soaked in, Dean couldn’t help a giddy smile sneaking across his face. Cas wanted him. Of all the choices he could make, he chose Dean. What a beautiful thought to go home to.

 

“See you next time, handsome,” Dean said with a wink. Cas reached out and touched his shoulder, and he found himself alone in his car. He glanced at the passenger seat, which held the small pile of Cas’ clothes. For a moment, all he could do was grip the steering wheel and stare into space. 

 

The sky was dark and the town was alive with activity. He scanned every neon sign and digital billboard, but couldn’t find a blue to match the beauty of Cas’ eyes. After a moment of reflection, he started the car and headed home. Today was a good day.

 

Cas wanted him. Forever. But Cas also wanted to try and scare him off by showing him “a day in the life.” That was fine with Dean. He was looking forward to it. Mostly, he was looking forward to giving Cas the shock of his life by seeing it all and wanting him regardless.

 

That was the plan, anyway. After everything Cas had told him, what could he do that would change his mind? He supposed that must be the point of their next formal meeting. Maybe Cas would give him the shock of his life, after all. He would have to just wait and see.

 

Being lost in thought made the drive home seem quicker than usual. His stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of walking into a house where his dad might or might not be in a punchy mood. Letting out a sigh, Dean cut the engine and bit his nail. Uncertainty laid beyond his front doorstep, but as long as he could make it alive to his next free day, he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted Wednesday, Feb. 20, 2019. Next one after that: Saturday, Feb. 23rd. You do NOT want to miss these chapters... Some big things are coming, so stay tuned! <3


	10. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sees firsthand the heinous acts Cas is forced to commit against humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that this fic does contain non-con, as is the nature of the incubus 'verse I've created. This chapter is one of those chapters where it's pretty "in your face."

Walking on eggshells. That’s what living with John Winchester had been like for the last two weeks. No harm came to Mary -- Dean made absolutely sure of that. He watched his father like a hawk while he was in her presence, ready at a moment’s notice to throw himself between them. To make matters easier, Sam had kept to himself and not caused the sort of trouble that warranted physical discipline.

 

Abuse. It wasn’t discipline, Dean realized. Or corporal punishment, or earning respect, or “rearing them up in the ways of godliness.” It was abuse.

 

He made a point to hide every preaching tape pertaining to family roles, so as not to give John any ideas. One time when he was ten and Sammy was six, their father felt  _ inspired  _ after watching a tape on child discipline and decided to whack their behinds because they “probably deserved it.” He and Sam ran away to their rooms that night, scared and confused as to what they had done wrong, and tucked it away in the backs of their minds as one of those things they never brought up again.

 

The subject of spanking was a hairy one, indeed. The beating he endured while his father was under demonic influence was another ball game entirely. What Dean had experienced was straight up bullying, and not just in the physical sense. John was pulling rank on him -- using his influence to shut him up and keep him where he wanted him. Dean felt trapped. Technically, nothing was keeping him here, but it was so much more than that; it was political too.

 

In an independent institution devoid of all checks and balances, the pastor held all the power. What John Winchester says, goes. With his authority reaching as far as each member’s private family life, his own family was naturally expected to not only exemplify his ideals but be the highest attainable goal. 

 

That meant a great many things that Dean did not agree with, the most pertinent hitting way too close to home. His life, laid out before him, consisted of the following: a wedding uniting two clueless virgins — between a man and a woman, mind you; immediate filling of his “quiver” with more children than he could ever justify; and eventually leading the church in his father’s stead, ensuring such a legacy stay in the family, instead of meddling in such trivial matters as choosing the next pastor by vote.

 

Dean threw his foam ball against the wall, which bounced right back to his place on the bed, rattling the door but not enough to make a ruckus. He didn’t think about these things often. He couldn’t, or he’d go insane. He wondered how anyone could bring themselves to join such an institution, knowing what evils lie behind the doors. Perhaps they were ignorant of the slippery slope, or maybe they were so desperate for something different that giving up control looked comforting. 

 

Regardless of the decisions of others, he couldn’t live with the ones his father had chosen for him. Being set up with one of the prudes from youth group was adjacent to an arranged marriage. He couldn’t abide by it, even if he didn’t already love another. How many other people in the pews realized how wrong all this was? And why did they stay, when they were freer than he ever could be?

 

He was the preacher’s son. Even if he physically left, he’d never be allowed to truly leave. Every run-in with a church member at the grocery store would earn him dirty looks like the backsliders got when they’d skip a Sunday. He couldn’t care less that he wouldn’t be welcome over anymore, or that his dad would use him for bad examples in his sermons, but he did care that the congregation would shame his mother for raising a wayward son. A prodigal. He couldn’t stand the thought of disgracing her, even if it was at the hand of a judgy flock of assholes.

 

Dean nearly hit Sam in the head when he came barreling into the room without as much as a knock. The foam ball careened at an odd angle as the door opened, knocking over the cup of water he kept on his nightstand.

 

“Hey, moron! Would it kill you to knock?” he scoffed at the sight of water trickling across the hardwood floor.

 

Sam threw a buzzing cell phone across the room. Dean caught it by an inch before its would-be shattering landing. “Would it kill you to not leave your stupid phone downstairs? It rang like forty thousand times!”

 

Dean’s life flashed before his eyes as he looked at the glass screen he saved from its untimely death. “Just get outta here, squirt.”

 

“Whatever,” Sam huffed before slamming the door.

 

Alone, at last, Dean read the screen before answering. It was an unknown number. He grumbled, briefly considering the ignore button, but deciding that if the caller was persistent enough to slowly drive Sam insane, he owed it to them to pick up.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Oh my god, Dean. Hi.”

 

It was the frazzled, shaking voice of Lisa. Dean instinctually started putting his shoes on. Something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked, starting to sweat as he ran through all the horrible things that could be happening. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m okay,” she said, apprehension in her voice. “I just… Oh geez, this is so embarrassing. I need help.”

 

“Tell me the place and I’m there, Lisa.”

 

“No Dean, it’s not like that. I’m in like… huge trouble.”

 

“What kind of trouble?” Dean gulped. When she sighed into the receiver, he plopped onto his bed to keep from kicking his bedpost. “Dammit Lisa, I’m thinking the worst over here. And why aren’t you calling me on your cell phone? You told me your mom’s house phone got disconnected months ago and --”

 

“I’m at the police station.”

 

Dean shot back up. He didn’t know how tapped the wires were from there, so he couldn’t go off on all the questions he would’ve liked. Did she finally get busted for turning tricks? “Why?”

 

“Shoplifting.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I don’t have much time left. You’re my one call, and I’m gonna go to juvie if I can’t pay the penalty, and I don’t have anyone else, and,” she paused. Dean bit his lip. “I hate that I’m calling you right now. I don’t want you caught up in this. But you’re the only person I can call and if you don’t want to help me I don’t blame you. But I can’t support my mom from in here and --”

 

“Just calm down,” Dean interrupted, his voice much quieter this time. “I’ll get you out.”

 

“Oh god,” Lisa sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I know I’m a pain in the ass. I never meant for it to get like this. I can’t even --”

 

The line cut into a dial tone. After hanging up with a groan, Dean dragged a shoebox out from under the bed, from which he took out a thick stack of dusty twenties and a couple of smaller bills. All earnings from odd summer jobs. He stuffed the whole wad in his pocket and took off in his dad’s car without asking.

 

Check this off the list of things he never anticipated doing. The station was mostly quiet, with the exception of two officers holding down a drunk and disorderly from dancing for the receptionist. Sheriff Mills raised a brow as she walked past Dean, but the two didn’t exchange words. The bail was five hundred dollars, and he swore under his breath as he dropped the whole wad of twenties on the counter.

 

Lisa wasn’t smiling when she came pattering down the hall, arms full of her belongings. Dean was in no frame of mind for pleasantries, so her somber expression was a relief. At least the current feeling was mutual. She ducked into his car and folded her arms on the dash, burying her head. For a full minute, Dean sat gripping the steering wheel in total silence. He was pissed, of course, but more than that, confused.

 

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened?”

 

Lisa pushed off the dash and hid her face in her hands. She stopped her hair behind her ears and propped her elbows on her knees, knowing she eventually had to crawl out of her own shame and explain herself. She stopped a sob in her throat. She couldn’t fall apart here. She wasn’t going to be that girl. This already looked bad; he didn’t need to see her cry, too.

 

“I take receipts that people throw away,” she began. “And I go into the stores and I steal the things on the receipts. And then I go in and return them.” She finally turned, Dean’s face exactly how she had imagined. Perplexed. Shocked. Disgusted. “It was just something quick to do while in therapy. I was about to stop, after that last one, and…” She sighed.

 

“And that’s the one that got you caught,” he finished.

 

She sat straight up against the seat, arms crossed and one foot bouncing. She nodded.

 

“Is that what you were doing when we all went out with Charlie?”

 

Lisa looked out the windshield at nothing, reconnecting with the memory. “Two watches and a tie. Sixty dollars and thirty-eight cents cash.”

 

“That’s kinda…?”

 

“Sucky?” she said with a nose scrunch. “Yeah, believe me, I know. But it kept our heat on.”

 

“Lisa?”

 

She broke. “I’m sorry, seriously. I didn’t mean to get caught. I just needed some money to get me through December. Shrinks are expensive but I knew I could make up for it once I get back on the streets. God, Dean, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking stupid.”

 

“Lisa.”

 

Clamping her mouth shut did nothing to stop the tears. She shook in her seat with every sob, her throat emanating tiny whimpers and each inhale through her nose creating a wet sniff. Dean reached over to snap open the glove compartment, and she dug a napkin out to blow her nose. 

 

A lecture on ethics would be useless. Not because she didn’t care, but because she did not have the luxury of right and wrong being so cut and dry. Of course she cared. She cared for her deadbeat mother. She cared about getting as far away as possible from her high-and-mighty senator uncle once she was legal. She cared about Dean and Charlie and the other atrocities under the scrutiny of John Winchester. No, this was far beyond the scope of ethics.

 

“Was that your last haul?” Dean asked. 

 

“Yes, I swear.”

 

“Okay,” he said on a much-needed exhale. “Lisa, promise me something?”

 

She met his deadpan gaze. 

 

“Never shoplift again.”

 

She lowered her eyes again but nodded. He had just bailed her out, after all. She wasn’t going to, anyway, but after digging her out of this mess, she owed him this much. She looked back up.

 

“I promise.”

 

Dean searched her face with worried brows. He didn’t mean to come across as distrustful, but he had to know she was being genuine. When he found no deceit in her, he relaxed against his own seat and started up the car. He was done talking about it, because honestly, what a mess. Enough was on his plate already by the double life he lived alongside an incubus, and now this? 

 

The ride to the Braeden’s was uncomfortably quiet. Dean was hours away from jumping into Cas’ brain and watching him rape people for a living. Every moment he left his father alone with his mother was a moment unaccounted for. And now Lisa was officially a criminal in the eyes of the law.

 

Never a dull moment.

 

“I’ll pay you back,” came her first words in a half hour. They were parked in her cul de sac, sun setting over a short day. “I’ll get the money. I’ll work extra hard.”

 

Dean winced at her words’ meaning. “Look, I’m not telling you to not pay me back. But if you decide to, please don’t put yourself in danger to do it faster.”

 

Lisa huffed a humorless laugh. “I already do that every day.”

 

Dean sighed and bit his lip. “Take care of yourself, Lisa.”

 

“Thank you,” she said as she unbuckled. “For helping me out of there and driving me home.”

 

“Stay safe,” he insisted. “I know what you’re thinking. But just humor me, and tell me you’ll be safe.”

 

“Am I making another promise?”

 

“As much as I’d like that? No.”

 

She gathered her things and put her hand on the door handle. “Okay then. I’ll stay safe.” She offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and got out. It was more than Dean could muster -- his smile back didn’t even reach his mouth. After she was inside, he rubbed his temples, trying to dull the ache arising from the day’s troubles. All he could do to clear his mind was to think of his appointment with Cas.

 

* * *

 

The demon’s wings beat against the air as he plunged into the swirling smoke of the veil.  _ You’re not going to like it _ , he warned to the human sitting inside his mind. Cas’ job was loveless and skeevy and wrong, and he never wanted Dean to be exposed to that. He made sure to enjoy the last few moments of looking into Dean’s eyes before he absorbed his soul because once he came back out, he’d never look at Cas the same way again.

 

As the smoke cleared, Cas scanned the area for a messenger demon. The spiritual realm was like a vellum overlay on top of the physical one, covering it with a milky distinction that could be pulled back at will. It made the world below appear fuzzy and far off, when in fact the two kissed while mortals went about their day never knowing how close they were to another world.

 

The room was circular and easily the size of the Winchester’s church. Spiritual creatures of every size and shape were on the prowl; to what, Dean couldn’t begin to guess. One of them had floating hair and cat eyes, wandering the room looking for the right portal. 

 

_ She’s a siren _ , Cas projected into his mind for Dean to hear.  _ Like me, but sex is optional. Their duty is to lure people’s souls to hell with temptation that might or might not be requited. _ The explanation did little to clear it up, but as if he could read Dean’s mind, Cas continued.  _ If a siren is attracted to her prey, she may do with him as she wills before condemning him to eternal damnation. _

 

Having never considered how many types of demons might exist, Dean simply accepted it and moved on to the next one in their line of vision. A sickly looking creature, hunched over and lethargic, dragged his feet on the way to a window at the far end of the room.  _ His name is Astaroth and he tempts humankind to be lazy _ , Cas explained.

 

A petite demon handed Cas a scroll written in Avern, the language of demons, which he glanced over before tumbling into another self-made cloud of smoke. He had memorized this week’s assignments by now: some planned, others not. Sure, some people purposefully summoned his kind, but Dean was going to witness the oblivious ones, too. 

 

The portal took him into a dark, quiet room, where a man and woman were soundly sleeping. He could feel Dean’s apprehension, like a nervous child being dragged forward, but he had to ignore it if he was going to get the job done.

 

Landing softly between the couple, the incubus bit the man in the arm, startling him awake, but rendering him motionless. The man looked on in helpless horror as Cas climbed over the woman, a mass of black smoke surrounding him. He stilled it, darkening the area against the invasive rays of moonlight seeping through the window, as well as his bright eyes. He ground against her as she stirred, dragging her partner’s boneless hand down her arm to imitate his touch.

 

“Mmm, finally, Tom,” she mumbled, rocking into the touch. “I’ve been trying to catch you in the mood for weeks.”

 

Cas removed the man’s hand and slipped the woman’s nightgown high enough to get to work. He pried her panties down her legs. When he held onto her hips and pressed his pelvis against her, stimulating his cock out of hiding underneath his scales, she grabbed onto his arms and moved along with him. Aligning himself with her entrance, he froze when a muffled grunt interrupted them from the side.

 

The woman’s head jerked toward the noise. “Tom?”

 

Faster than the man could think, Cas whipped to the man’s side and latched onto his arm, pumping another helping of venom into the same artery. The man fell helplessly quiet, then Cas jumped back to the screaming woman.

 

“Get off me! Who are you?” she cried while thrashing against his strong arms. She tried, oh, did she try, to fight him, but the demon was much, much stronger than her.

 

He always did tire of the same old questions. Who are you… What do you want… Why are you doing this? 

 

She needed to shut up and relax, or this was going to take too long. Forcing her arms apart, he nipped at her clavicle, opening up her skin for plenty of his paralyzing poison. Her terrified screams trailed off into voiceless breaths as the venom took hold. Once she was perfectly still, Cas lunged into her with rehearsed precision. He knew exactly how magnified her nerve endings were right now; how fast she’d like it and where to find that perfect spot deep inside her. 

 

At first, it was the shocked, wide eyes. Then came the predictable surrender to pleasure, her eyes rolling back and breaths heaving in time with his deliberate movements. After a while, he circled her clit with his thumb, now wet from his thrusts spreading her arousal. She was all the way under now, enjoying it, despite her denial, and despite how unwelcome Cas’ visit had started out.

 

Unable to form tone, she gasped with eyes blown wide open while waves of orgasm rolled through her body. He stopped when her pulsing subsided, pulling out and lifting the dark cloud from the bed. It wasn’t until now he could see the horrified couple looking up at him. Each had bite marks with blood beginning to clot and matching terror in their eyes. They never looked away from his glowing blue eyes as he lifted himself into the air with his powerful wings. This would be a night they would not soon forget. Or maybe they’d both assume they were dreaming and never speak of it to each other, although the bites might complicate that. Either could happen after a sex demon’s visit, but it was none of Cas’ concern.

 

All Cas was paid to care about was getting the job done. With the night still young, he blew through miles of veiled fog on the way to his next assignment. Dean was being unnervingly quiet, so he projected a thought to him. 

 

_ I told you, you wouldn’t like it _ .

 

“Why did you have to do that?”

 

The question was old, one he had given up on answering long ago.  _ Reasons can vary, and we are never told which one. From what she said before the act, it sounds like she was yearning for intercourse to begin with. Prayers, meditations, longings… These energies bleed into my realm and catch the attention of those who can benefit from them. _

 

“And there was already a portal in their room? That’s how you were able to hop right on in there?”

 

_ Yes _ .

 

“How’d the portal get there?”

 

_ I don’t know that either. Sometimes it’s through no fault of the current homeowners _ .

 

When Dean didn’t reply, Cas refocused on the next task and tumbled into a sunny, green forest. Thirteen women and a dark-haired demon stood in a circle, staring up at him eagerly as he glided down. The other demon bore the same markings as Cas, but had a woman’s form.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

_ That’s Hannah. She’s a succubus _ .

 

“Welcome,” Hannah spoke. The small fire in the middle flared up as everyone gathered around in a wide circle, intensifying the power between the group. “This coven has summoned us to complete their ritual. It requires the conception of a cambion.”

 

Cas couldn’t help the deep eye roll that got out of him. Of course, these needy witches would choose the most complex spell for their little group project. “We require an offering in return for such trouble,” he was very gratified to point out. “Someone besides the cambion surrogate.”

 

“I’ve already arranged it,” she assured, motioning to the woman to her left. “She’s all yours.”

 

As Cas drifted reluctantly towards the offering, she held her hands up skittishly. “Could you actually, like… not do anything with your penis?”

 

Cas tilted his head disbelievingly. When did clients get so damn entitled? “You’re a bold one,” he growled, knocking her to the cold ground with a pounce. With seasoned swiftness, he tore down her pants and underwear and dug his claws into her knees. He spread her legs as she leaned on her elbows to watch, sucking in a long gasp as his mouth took her folds by storm. His nose bumped her clit as he fucked her with his tongue, eating her slick as he worked. After she began moaning, he slipped two fingers into her and sucked her swollen clit. Before long, she was a writhing mess, body jolting as he tipped her over the edge.

 

“Wow,” she breathed as he pushed away from her with a slippery strand of arousal still clung between her entrance and his mouth. “That was --”

 

“Get up,” he ordered, slapping away her still open legs. Giving no further thought to her, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and stood up. Hannah approached him, clearly just as  _ not  _ into this as he was. He quickly thought through the many available positions. He didn’t want to look at her. “Hands and knees.”

 

His time inside Hannah was short-lived, thankfully. After several hundred years, succubi tended to become pros at having their roe ready at a moment’s notice. Once he had successfully absorbed her contribution, he removed himself and awaited the surrogate. He never did like the feeling of being filled by a succubus, so he was all too glad to unload the mix of their seeds into the waiting human. The process was quicker than he anticipated, so he took a mental note that Hannah made this particular practice not so horrible.

 

“The fuck was that?” Dean’s puzzled voice broke through the silence of Cas’ mind as he and Hannah left the coven to their devices. She went a different way than him, so he was able to give Dean his full attention as he flew through the murky veil. He even spoke back, which was far easier than projecting the words into his own head.

 

“Reproduction for our kind looks a bit different than that of humankind.”

 

“Thanks, Sherlock. No shit. Let’s go, health teacher. Lay it on me.”

 

“You are confused because you still think in terms of male and female. Remember, incubus does not mean male, neither does succubus mean female. We just happen to carry forms familiar to you as such.”

 

“Fine. So what, she knocks you up and then you… knock a human up? How’s that work?”

 

“We cannot reproduce between ourselves. There has to be a human host for our offspring. Do you know the legends about incubi impregnating women in their sleep?”

 

“Yeah, it’s kind of what you’re known for.”

 

“Demonic offspring is called cambion, and while it’s true that an incubus deposits his seed into the host, that’s only half the story. Succubus roe is also needed, of course, much like human egg and sperm. I receive my roe from a succubus, and the human receives both parts from me. The demon child grows in the woman and she births and raises him.”

 

It was a lot to take in, and he gave Dean plenty of time to ponder. “Does the cambion blend in with society well?”

 

“No,” Cas replied. “Usually they cause nonstop trouble and end up with a life behind bars, or dead.”

 

“Well, that’s… uplifting?”

 

“Everywhere they go, negative energy is emitted. These tendrils of darkness work as power networks for other activities, such as creating gateways and causing mischief.”

 

“You got mischief demons up in this joint? Like, demons specifically for trolling the shit outta people?”

 

“Among those of other classifications, such as possession, oppression, spectra, and sex demons such as myself.” He considered keeping the next bit of information from Dean but concluded that he’d want Dean to tell him if the roles were reversed. “It’s a spectra demon that’s troubling the church. One of oppression came into the portal inside your home.”   
  


“That the dickface you’re trying to chase out?”

 

“Something to that effect,” Cas murmured. They were approaching the next job. “I can’t ask him to simply stop.”

 

“Oh, trust me,” Dean let out a chuckle devoid of humor. “You’ve made it clear that this place has got its own system.”

 

A pocket of turbulence knocked Cas off his path. Disoriented, he leaned against the flow in an effort to regain control, but the wind kept sweeping him to the side. He grumbled to himself, aware of what sort of interruption this was. Cursed fools and their seances.

 

“What’s going on?” Dean asked nervously.

 

“I’m being summoned to an unscheduled location. I was the closest demon in the vicinity, so I got caught in the evocation. Much like what happened to your friends with the Ouija board.”

 

Dean seemed content with that response, so Cas blew into the world below and crouched near the ceiling in a darkened corner. The group of men seated at the table were close-eyed and in deep concentration, fully unaware of the presence lurking mere feet away. When Cas dropped to the floor, the four men reeled back in shock, eyes widened with terror.

 

“What the hell, Gary?” one of them exclaimed as he shot up, putting his chair between himself and the incubus.

 

“Don’t look at me! I was trying to get a girl one.”

 

Cas spoke up in a rumbling, vaguely threatening tone Dean remembered from not so long ago. “If the invocation translated correctly, what you actually asked for was ‘a kinkster to ride my ass.’ That makes you the bottom, yes?”

 

“W-well yeah,” Gary, a balding man with glasses and a mustache, struggled to spit out. “But I was picturing some hot chick with a strap-on. I’m not gay!”

 

As much as Dean was enjoying this exchange, one of the men in the room tore his attention away from Gary defending his heterosexuality. The man in question was seated the furthest away, almost completely cloaked in darkness. Candle flickers were the only thing illuminating his face, and Dean tensed when he recognized him.

 

Arthur Ketch.

 

What was his grammar teacher doing here? He stayed quiet as Cas moved around the room fluidly, effectively heightening the tension with every step he took. Circling around each frightened human in the room, the demon eventually made it to Ketch, who gave an unreadable stare as Cas sized him up.

 

“Sexual preferences hold no weight in the eyes of an incubus. I require an offering.”

 

“Look, pal,” Gary said with a pointed finger. He took a step back when the demon whipped his head back around to face him with a guttural snarl. “How about we trade you in and we forget about it?”

 

“You humans,” Cas chuckled darkly. “It’s always  _ this _ , right  _ now _ , or  _ else _ . And as soon as you realize you have erred, it becomes ‘Oh but it’s not  _ my  _ fault. I demand a do-over!’ Unfortunately for you, that's not how anything in the span of eternity works. Your world is so small, you assume you have an actual choice in the matter. It’s pathetic.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Ketch offered. Cas turned back to him with a cocked head. “If it’s all the same to you, of course.”

 

“It is not,” Cas growled, facing Gary once again. “I want this one.”

 

Dean let out a huff of relief when Cas refused his teacher. Seeing him in class the next day would make things so awkward, he wasn’t sure if even he could look him in the eye again. Still, he had a lot to think about from noticing how eager Ketch was to get dicked down. 

 

“No,” Gary bleated, bumping into the wall. “No, please! Don’t, I… I’m straight. No… no!”

 

His cries were silenced after Cas trapped him between his clawed hands and sank his teeth into the man’s jaw. Cas turned to face the others with his bloody mouth, satisfied to see them backing away with color draining from their faces. Gary sunk to the floor, jaw loose and eyes glazed over.

 

No one dared interrupt Cas as he positioned the man on the floor and ripped away his flimsy Lycra pants and slipped his briefs down. Cas gave no thought to the man having to go home with a huge hole in his pants; to him, this was a warm body in a very long line of forced jobs. He had no choice in the matter.

 

From the outside, this looked very bad. From the inside, it was so much worse. Neither being was a willing participant. Cas was a slave to sex trafficking, for lack of a better term, and no sexual act while working was actually wanted. On the other side of the coin lay people like this man: just as forced as he was, but part of the deal nonetheless. He offered the man a quick, sympathetic glance before sinking himself into his hole.

 

No one dared say a word as Cas angled himself to brush the man’s prostate at every other pass. Although Gary was unable to speak or move, his body was reacting to the intensified pleasure in other ways -- shallow breathing, sweaty pores, eyes clamping shut and blowing open again. Dean heard a belt unbuckle behind them but didn’t want to entertain the idea of it being Ketch, getting off on watching.

 

The ejaculate shooting onto Gary’s still clothed torso was met with utter silence as Cas yanked out resentfully. Cas was not at all surprised to turn to see the man with a British accent with his hands in his pants, pausing for a beat to gauge Cas’ reaction before resuming. Long ago, the incubus learned just how interested humans were in watching other humans engage in intercourse, much to his bewilderment. He was neither offended nor flattered by someone masturbating to him; it was just one of those things that he accepted.

 

Cas’ cock sank back under the shield of scales as he stood upright over the sedated man, who was barely recovered enough to raise his head. Incubus venom affected everyone differently, and it appeared that this one was a bit of a lightweight. His demands now satisfied, Cas turned his attention away from Gary.

 

“Never bore me again with your misconstrued concept of incubi and succubi,” the demon growled. With a flap of his wings, he extinguished the candles in the room and swept himself back into the darkness.

 

Dean was quiet for the rest of the flight. It was disconcerting for Cas, but he held his tongue, hoping to explain anything particularly unsettling once he had turned himself in at the end of his shift. Having someone tag along for the ride reminded him of just how disturbing his life was. It was times like these that cemented his resolve: This was the life he was fighting to escape. Like every other demon cursed to the same fate, he labored doubly just for a moment’s peace. The wages were shitty and the future was bleak, but with every marginally bigger break, he inched closer to hope.

 

He landed in the same wide, open room as at the beginning, but went straight to a window carved into the stone wall and laid his palm face up for the window receptionist. He grunted in pain as she poured a hot, thick glob of red goo into his hand. After several seconds, it dried and she ripped it off, then set it under a lamp emanating blue light.

 

She studied the mold of his palm carefully, jotting down notes on a scroll. “Not bad for only three jobs,” she said. “The offering in the woods is married to a camp counselor.”

 

“Will that count for extra, Dagon?” Cas asked hopefully.

 

At first, she shrugged, but then inspected it closer, and smiled. “Oh yeah, he’s a doozy. You’ll get double for this.”

 

Cas could hardly help the smirk creep across his face. “Anything else?”

 

“Nope. Do you want to make any transactions while you’re here?”

 

“How much do I have to work with?”

 

Dagon opened a deep drawer in the wall. It was labeled with what Dean could only guess was Cas’ name in Avern, and to every side, there was another drawer with other names. She dug through his drawer for a moment before dropping in his latest mold. “You’ve almost got enough to start thinking about a sanctuary partner. Are you sure you want to spend, Cas? I thought we might make a good pair.” She peered up at him flirtatiously.

 

“I have no desire to bond with another demon,” Cas said flatly. “I’ve told you this.”

 

“Fine,” she sighed sharply. “You can get another half day as soon as next week.”

 

“Excellent. Another new portal and a few high-ranking souls, and I’ll be able to afford a whole day off.”

 

“You sure you aren’t going to reverse it? Like you did that one time that set you back, like, centuries?”

 

“What I do with my earnings is none of your business, Dagon,” Cas warned.

 

“Whatever,” she shrugged. “They’re just human souls, my friend. They’re currency. Totally not worth the trouble. At least that’s not who you’re sweet on, right?” When she looked up to catch Cas dropping his gaze, she rolled her eyes. “Cas, come on. It’s not a good idea to get emotionally attached to humans. Especially you folks under the order of Lilith.”

 

Dean’s interest was piqued. He always thought Lilith was a fairytale used to frighten women into submission. This story sounded juicy.

 

“They’re selfish and their attention spans are the length of a gnat,” she continued. “Whoever it is, they’re going to lose interest by the next world war.”

 

“Perhaps,” Cas responded. “Or perhaps not. Either option is infinitely better than this life.”

 

Dagon smiled thinly, eyes shifting to a look of condolence. “I know, Cas. Good luck with your efforts.”

 

Cas was already too preoccupied with the next item on his mental checklist to register her words as he left. During her goodbye, he had caught a glimpse of the oppressor that caused grief for his human and wasted no time stalking him all the way into another room. It was larger than the first, all stone, and dark with negativity.

 

“What do you want now, whore?” the wild thing spat once he picked up on Cas’ scent following him around.

 

“You’ve got some gall,” Cas hissed back as they glared into each other’s eyes. “This whore opened up a portal for you to oppress the preacher called Winchester.”

 

“And then you had the balls to ask me to seal it back up,” the demon recalled. “You think it’s okay to make a deal and just go back on it? I’ve got a quota to make.”

 

“I offered you another portal, if you recall. It’s just as good as the Winchester one. Take it, Jervis.”

 

“No deal, but thanks for the extra portal!” The demon bared his teeth in a sardonic smile and turned away.

 

Jervis disappeared behind a crowd of brooding drudes, but Cas spat out one last indignant grouse before going on his way. “At least you have a quota and a slap on the wrist if you fail. I’m either performing or in the Pit.”

 

“What’s in the Pit?” Dean’s voice came ringing. Cas snapped his fingers and landed them both in Dean’s bedroom. Looking down, Dean ran his hands down his jean legs to ground himself in being inside his own body once again. Having mass again after floating weightlessly in someone’s mind was sudden and jarring.

 

“Sit,” Cas advised. After Dean reclined on his bed against the headboard, Cas sat in front of him on the mattress. He had anticipated questions such as this, after that kind of culture shock. The subject of the Pit was a heavy one to start out with, but none of their conversation pieces were much lighter.

 

“It’s a place of punishment for insubordinate demons. I have been sent there once, after failing to complete a task assigned to me. It is a place of immense pain. Their torture methods are varied, and… effective. Many a stubborn incubus ends up there early on in their life, coming out subservient and without conscience.”

 

“Whipped ya into shape, huh?”

 

Cas looked off. “I guess.” Dean was taking everything as well as could be expected, so far. But Cas knew the other shoe was going to drop at any moment.  _ I care about you, Cas,  _ but  _ you’re basically a paid molester. Cas, I love you  _ but  _ your lifestyle is too extreme for me. Cas, I want to get past this,  _ but  _ I’m above this.  _ He knew a variant thereof was coming, so he held his breath.

 

“Tell me about this Lilith chick.”

 

Cas looked back at Dean with a confused blink. “What do you know about her? Or rather, what do you think you know?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I thought she was a myth. In some religions, she’s called Adam’s first wife. And she wanted to have sex with him either at his side or over him, not under him.”

 

“And he tried to have sex with her under him anyway.”

 

Dean perked up. “Wait, are you saying Adam was the first… the first rapist?”

 

“The facts say that, not just me,” Cas replied dryly. “She was expelled from Eden and became a demon. Some say, the first succubus.” He tilted his head at Dean. “But...?”

 

“But,” Dean paused to think. “Succubus means ‘to lie under’, and that’s what she refused to do.”

 

“Which makes her…?”

 

“Holy shit,” Dean blurted. “Lilith was the first incubus.”

 

Cas nodded again, pleased with Dean’s deduction. “That’s what Dagon meant by the Order of Lilith. She created us as a reminder to mankind of the treachery of Adam. That’s why I can never assume the position of a succubus without breaking the natural order of my kind.”

 

Dean sat cross-legged, resting his chin on his fist. “Wow,” he said after a moment of thought. “This is all, uh… kinda crazy.”

 

_ And, here it comes. _

 

“I am so, so sorry,” he continued, sudden tears making his eyes red and glassy. “Cas, I had no idea this was your life. Like, you told me it was bad, but man. This really fucking sucks.”

 

Cas sat motionless, waiting for the inevitable.

 

“I get it that Lilith wanted to stick it to the patriarchy, which is pretty badass, to be honest. But making an army of sex slaves? And punishing them for thinking outside of their role? Kind of a dick move.”

 

Not exactly the “but” Cas was expecting, but he relaxed into the conversation as Dean proceeded.

 

“And you turn in your timesheet every day to collect your dues, just so you can… Oh my god,” Dean realized. “Just so you can spend a few hours… with me. You work your cock sore for time off, to spend it with me.” He slumped against his headboard, tears threatening his eyes once again. “Cas… I? I…”

 

“I understand if you can’t accept me, after seeing what I do everyd--”

 

“I’m getting you out of this. Wait, what?”

 

“What?”

 

The two gaped at each other, unblinking, breath caught in their throats. Neither could quite believe what they heard, so they sat perfectly still, sure the other would eventually confess to having misspoken or joked. But it wasn’t so. Dean leaned forward until he was on his hands and knees, inches away from Cas’ face.

 

“I said, I want you to be free. I’m getting you outta this life.”

 

Every expectation Cas had about this moment came crashing down. Dean had seen the bad and the very, very ugly, and where a lesser being might have seen a filthy creature unworthy of anything good, Dean saw something else. And when Cas looked at Dean at that very moment, he saw love. Unconditional, unquestioning, absolute love.

 

Cas threw himself in Dean’s arms, catching Dean’s mouth in his and pulling him closer. Dean let himself fall on top of Cas, fingers splaying over his outstretched wings and mouth smiling over his open-mouthed kisses. Kissing Cas was like coming home, every time. Polar opposite as they could be, Dean couldn’t think of anyone he was more comfortable with, and who else he’d rather spend eternity bonded to. 

 

They really did have something special. Something worth fighting for. It was cosmic, profound, ageless. It made them perfectly worthy of each other, regardless of what the other thought of his inadequacy. When Dean looked at Cas, he didn’t see a demon, he saw his beloved. He saw someone worthy of love. He saw Cas.

 

“But,” Cas sputtered, “but why would you --”

 

“I love you.”

 

Cas looked down at the lips that had just spoken. Even he, a nightmare from hell, tainted by sin and damned to an eternity separated from the human realm, knew the weight of those words. He knew their purity, their meaning. Dean was sure. Cas had shown him everything that was supposed to change his mind, but it only solidified his resolve. At that moment, Cas had never been so sure of what he would do next. He held Dean’s face in his palms and looked deep into his bright, sparkling eyes.

 

“Castiel.”

 

At first Dean’s brows furrowed, but then his eyes widened into perfect circles. There. It was out in the open. Cas had said it. His true name. The name he had never uttered to anyone. It was power over him, and it was Dean’s for the taking.

 

“My name,” he repeated, “is Castiel.”

 

Dean turned his head enough to kiss one of the palms that was holding his cheek. The gesture was intimate and warm-hearted -- such a far cry from what Cas had to deal with on a daily basis. Dean could tell how much it meant to him by the moony smile tugging at his lips and relaxed look in his eyes.

 

Leaning down, Dean fluttered a barely-there kiss on his cheek before whispering in his ear. “Say my name.”

 

Cas licked his lip, which Dean ran his thumb over as his mouth parted for the sound. For a long time, he wondered how his name would sound rolling off Cas’ tongue. He didn’t have to wonder any longer.

 

“Dean.”

 

It was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard. He sucked in a stream of air, grinning ear to ear, and kissed the name right off Castiel’s lips. Strong, sharp nails wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, and so they kept kissing, deeper and deeper until one of them had to come up for air. Neither was sure which one it was.

 

“I love you, Dean.” Cas’ breath puffed against Dean’s mouth, which was still close enough to bump at the slightest shift of their faces. “Say mine.”

 

Dean pulled back slightly, still awed at what was happening between them. He felt closer to Cas than he ever had. He closed his eyes, reveling in the single stitch that had begun to tie their souls together. Fulfilling Cas’ request was only one small step toward completing the bond, but it would mark the beginning of their eternity together.

 

“Are you sure?” Dean asked firmly.

 

Cas smiled. “More than anything.”

 

The name came so easily. Like he was always meant to say it. Like it had been waiting for him his whole life. It made him so incredibly happy to finally say it.

 

“I love you so damn much, Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on Lisa's run-in with the law: I have researched what happens to minors who shoplift, so I am aware that my narrative is a bit... exaggerated. I understand that what happened to Lisa would not actually happen in real life, especially on someone's first offense. I took a lot of liberty there, and I am aware of that, in case any of my readers are experts in juvenile criminal justice. //Disclaimer end//
> 
> Okie dokie, now that that's out of the way... We can talk about happy things! :) YAY OUR FAVORITE IDIOTS IN LOVE DID THE THING! One step down, several more to go towards total soul bond. *throws glitter* Yay happiness! Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts!


	11. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean move forward with plans to bind their souls, but a single moment in time will throw many more complications into the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter this time! Oh no, they'll never forgive me! How will I pay for my iniquities??
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> \- homophobia like *whoa*  
> \- religious emotional abuse and subsequent trauma

“Say it again,” the demon whispered between kisses. 

 

“Castiel,” his human replied softly. “Cas, I… I feel…”

 

“I know. Me too.”

 

The change had been so subtle, one might not have noticed if they weren’t expecting it. But just that bit of difference made them feel closer, more in tune with each other. Dean couldn’t stop giggling from the warm glow growing from the closeness of their souls, and it made Cas laugh in return. 

 

Nose to nose, they laid comfortably on Dean’s bed and simply enjoyed being near each other. At some point, Dean had flopped onto his side and wrapped his arm around Cas’ waist. Cas loved the attention and just kept staring into Dean’s eyes, indescribably happy that today had gone the best possible direction. He was prepared to be sent away. Instead, he had been loved and accepted despite everything he was. 

 

“What’s next?” Dean asked. “For the bond, I mean. I know about bottoming and receiving, ahem, favors in return.” He wiggled his brows, to which Cas smirked and rolled his eyes. Anything else you’re not telling me?”

 

“There’s a blood ritual,” Cas said slowly, furrowing his brows in deep thought. “The final step to sever my ties to my order and be forever tied to you.”

 

Dean ran his knuckles lightly over Cas’ cheek and then booped his nose. “I like the sound of that. Forever tied to you.”

 

“I look forward to it.”

 

“Any idea about that blood ritual?”

 

Cas shook his head. “We are not permitted to research the subject. But I wouldn’t know where to begin looking. I just know it’s out there somewhere.”

 

“Have other sex demons busted outta there from using it?”

 

“Only one,” Cas acknowledged. “A witch created the spell long ago to bind an incubus to the man she loved. I remember when they bonded. It was a happy day for her… and us. It was the day we realized there was hope.”

 

Dean curled his arm around Cas again. He never wanted to let go. “I’m going to find that spell, Cas.”

 

Castiel nodded. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he was closer to freedom than he’d ever been. Thoughts of eternity with Dean were interrupted when Dean’s fingers wandered lower. 

 

“So, when can I give you that blowie?”

 

Although everything within him screamed for it, especially with their souls one stitch closer, Cas stopped Dean before he could dip his whole body further down the mattress. “I’d rather complete the bond once we have everything we need for the blood ritual.”

 

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Dean sighed, shuffling back up. “Fine, we’ll wait. And when I finally do go down on you, I’m doing so many filthy things below your waist, it’ll make your day job look like amateur hour.”

 

Cas’ eyes flashed dark and his toes curled. “Count me intrigued.”

 

“I’m going to eat you out like Sunday dinner,” Dean growled in his ear. The incubus shuddered beside him, so he smiled and continued. “I’ll put my tongue as far up your ass as it’ll go until you’re begging for more. And then I’m going to suck you off. And then I’ll do it again. Then, I’ll finger you wide open with your cock down my throat, until you’re so empty you’re shaking.”

 

“Dean,” Cas murmured, eyes darkening and arousal surging through him. He smelled the warmth of Dean’s own blood as it pumped faster. It was so intoxicating, his eyes rolled back. 

 

“And then I’m going to fuck you until my name is the only thing you remember. It’ll be the only thing on your lips.” Dean sucked on Cas’ bottom lip and grinned smugly when it earned him a tantalizing moan. “I’ve got lots of lost time to make up for, and I’m going to make it worth every second. How hard do you like it, Cas? How hard do you want me to pound into you?”

 

Castiel was rock hard. He couldn’t deny he had thought about it. It was mostly a fantasy, as he never expected Dean to ever really want him. But here they were, and Dean was saying these raunchy things, and he was asking for Cas’ input. It was bordering on “accepting sexual favors in return” and they were only words. 

 

“Dean, I want it rough. I want to be sore the next day. But after that, I want it slow. I want you to show me how much you’ve wanted me. How loving the human touch can be. I want you to take all night to show me what I’ve been waiting for all these years.”

 

“I’m gonna make it happen, hot stuff.” Hearing Cas make special requests was nothing short of delicious. He couldn’t wait to make those wishes come true. Dean closed his eyes and imagined it all — the otherwise controlling incubus writhing under his touch, coming undone from his tongue, fingers, and cock — and made sure to project it so Cas could see it, too. 

 

“Mmm,” Cas purred as the images flooded his mind. “Dean, it’s wonderful. You are wonderful.”

 

“Thank me later,” Dean replied, pulling him in for a lazy kiss. “Until then, I’ve got a spell to find.” He rolled back on top of Cas, grinding against him teasingly and pressing their mouths together. The heat between them spread like a wildfire. Dean was sure he could come just like this, dry-humping through his pants. 

 

And Cas knew just what to do to him to get him there. From below, he pressed down on the small of Dean’s back and buried his nose in the crook of Dean’s neck. He breathed in Dean’s warm, salty scent, tickling him on each exhale. Dean’s cock grew increasingly hard with each grind, losing himself in the moment that, like any other with Cas, seemed to stand still.

 

Breaths deepening, Dean clung onto Cas as they pressed closer. His hips moved to the beat of Cas’ tugs, unchaste heat escalating between them and euphoric pleasure rushing to his core. Having Cas more fully, one step closer to oneness, heightened the impact of every touch. 

 

A gruff voice from the doorway derailed them. “Dean.”

 

Dean threw himself to the side without hesitation, blocking Cas from sight. It was his father, standing in the open doorway. All color drained from Dean’s face as he opened his mouth to say something, but words caught in his throat at the empty stare his father gave him.

 

When John’s eyes wandered to the side, Dean threw his arm back to push Castiel off the bed but was relieved to feel that he was already gone. Had his dad seen the horns and wings and scales? Did his pillow and fluffy comforter hide him? This was going to be a hard one to explain away, and Dean was usually fairly competent at it.

 

“Who’s in here with you?”

 

Dean fumbled around the bed, eventually pulling at the bedspread to cover his softening erection. After hiding his lap, his eyes shot back up to see his dad peering over the bed.

 

“Son, I was a teenager once, too. You don’t have to act like I don’t know what you were up to.”

 

Dean’s lip quivered. Oh, if only. 

 

“Okay, whoever you are back there, come on out,” John called to the empty space behind the bed. He waited a moment, then walked around to inspect the hidden side. His brows furrowed. “Dean, where’s your friend?”

 

Burying his bottom lips between his teeth, he looked down at the space beside him from which Cas had teleported. Maybe he could convince his dad that his bed partner had very quietly sneaked out of the room. John looked under the bed and then back to the door. Good, maybe he wouldn’t have to admit to frottage with a being capable of disappearing at will.

 

“It’s a nice magic trick,” John admitted before sitting at the foot of Dean’s bed. “But you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on.”

 

For a beat, all Dean could do was mentally catch up with the last twenty seconds. It happened in fast forward and slow motion, at the same time. It jarred him and threw him off his usually smooth  _ charm-your-way-out-of-trouble _ groove. He couldn’t process his father’s unwelcome entry fast enough to figure out what his next steps needed to be.

 

“Well,” Dean’s voice shook as he gestured vaguely to his mattress. “You saw it. You obviously know what’s going on, Dad.”

 

“The sins of the flesh are a powerful thing,” John said gently. Too gently. It was unsettling. Like the low rumble of a volcano before eruption. “I’m just glad I stopped you from anything regretful. You know you should be saving yourself for marriage, Dean.”

 

Before his eyes rolled of their own volition, Dean shut them and swallowed a large lump in his throat.  _ A little late for that, Dad. But thanks _ . His next words were more steady. “I don’t regret it, though.”

 

“You will when you’re older and see things in a different light. Even if I hadn’t seen you, God still would have. And isn’t that scarier?”

 

_ Creepy, actually. But not scarier _ . “Did you see who I was with?”

 

“No, but whoever it was looked rather strange. I don’t know if this is some kinda dress-up bondage thing or what, but you should know, son, that if your marriage is what God intends, you’ll have no need for adding unnecessary things to make it exciting.”

 

“Dad!” Dean cried out. “Please stop talking. That’s… the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, first of all. And it’s none of your business what I do behind closed doors.”

 

“It is while you’re still under my roof.”

 

“No, it isn’t. I’m an adult.”

 

John scoffed. “An adult, huh? How about you pay some bills, maybe pick up your own insurance? No, Dean. You might be eighteen, but you’re still living with your mother and I. Plus, you are salt and light to the world as a child of God.”

 

“You mean as a preacher’s kid,” Dean snapped angrily. “How about you say what you really mean? You’re living your life vicariously through me by trying to get me as close to your definition of ‘perfect’ as possible. Well, breaking news: I’m not, and I don’t wanna be. Not your version, anyways.”

 

“That’s not what this is about.” John’s volume raised to match that of Dean’s. “I have to watch over my boy. I have to make sure you don’t fall into sin —”

 

“Will! You! Stop! With the sin thing?” Dean shouted.

 

“You don’t mean to tell me you don’t care —”

 

“No, I don’t.” There it was. The dam had broke. No turning back now. “You tried so hard to mold me a certain way. You did everything you could to make sure I just freakin’ loved going to church and hearing the word. But for all the control you had over me, and for all the ways you tried to prevent me from becoming ‘worldly’, it backfired. Because I hate it all. I hate the hypocrisy and the bigotry… I hate the way you use words from a God you deem loving to condemn anything you’re uncomfortable with.” Dean realized his voice was shaking again, and he took a long breath. “I hate that you’re instilling such a negative view of sex on me. And I hate that you believe every word that flies outta your mouth.”

 

John sat still for a moment. “You hate church?”

 

Dean rubbed his face. “Yes, I hate church. Don’t friggin’ look at me that way, Dad. You did this to me.”

 

His dad shook his head defiantly. “I’m only doing what I truly believe to be right. The sins of the world and the pride of life can also lead us astray. Which of those do you think contributed to this outburst?”

 

Dean dug his fingers into his temple. He could feel his neck burning. Rage coursed through him and quickened his breath. If he had to hear one more line of this crap he might explode. He blinked hard and attempted to calm himself. It wasn’t working. His blood pressure continued to rise and he began feeling dizzy. He lost contact with his immediate surroundings. He was still on his bed, right?

 

“Please,” Dean begged through gritted teeth, “please just leave me alone.”

 

“Not until we get to the bottom of this.”

 

He tried to hide his shaking hands by fisting the sheets. The familiar softness reminded him where he was, but he was still having a hard time concentrating on anything beyond his dad. All he could focus on was the blanket in his lap and the pair of eyes staring a hole into him.

 

“Nothin’ wrong with what I was doing,” Dean defended. “I won’t apologize for something that’s natural.”

 

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s not, boy. It’s a wonderful thing. But you’ve gotta understand —”

 

“Dad if you say one more thing about celibacy and purity, I swear to God —”

 

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, son.”

 

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, this time not hiding his eye roll. “It’s like talking to a brick wall!”

 

John laughed. “I could say the same thing about you and your brother sometimes. Please, Dean, hear me out.”

 

“No,” Dean bit with a pointed finger. “I’ve been hearing you out for over eighteen years. You hear me out, this time. I’m not buying the bullcrap about women being submissive, and I’m not buying your perfect plan to set me up with some straight-laced broad and live an apple pie life with a white picket fence. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be caught up in these crazy church politics. I don’t wanna be your son.”

 

John looked hurt, but Dean didn’t care.

 

“I’m not what you want me to be, Dad. And I never will be. Deal with it. I’m a different breed and I’m not gonna change.”

 

John pointed at the empty spot beside Dean. “What happened today, that can change. You can repent of your ways.”

 

“I don’t wanna repent of my ways!”

 

“You will if you don’t want to be thrown out into the street.”

 

“I don’t give two craps if you throw me into the street.” Dean was yelling again. He couldn’t help it. He had no control over his tone or trembling voice or tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

“The sin you were about to commit wasn’t worth it!”

 

“Yes, it was!”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I love him!”

 

Everything stopped. Dean held his breath. John’s eyes shifted, then stilled as he sat motionless on the bed. After several seconds of arrant silence, the sounds of the room started slowly waxing back in. The ticks of John’s watch. The central air conditioning breathing into the vent.

 

John clenched his jaw, a dangerous look glazing over his eyes. “Him?”

 

Dean leaned against his headboard, a long, shuddering breath escaping him. This was not the way his father was supposed to find out. His ears rang as the blood drained from his head, leaving him queasy and lightheaded. More tears stung his eyes. He looked down.

 

“Dad…”

 

“Dean,” came the rumbling voice, inching closer as he scooted upward. 

 

He knew far better than to believe the longsuffering in that voice. Dean jumped up and bolted toward the door, but strong hands flung him back around and clenched onto him as he thrashed about. Repeating a series of sobbing “no”s, and “let me go”s, he kept fighting the unrelenting grasp that held him at arm’s length.

 

“Tell me it isn’t so.”

 

“What, that your son’s queer?” Dean cried. He jerked his shoulders side to side in a last-ditch effort to escape, but the former Marine was too quick and too strong. “Dammit, let go of me!”

 

The subsequent pop in the mouth shocked Dean but offered a split second of only one arm on him, so he fought through the sting of the punch and wriggled out. He slammed the door behind him, buying himself a tiny bit more time as he stumbled down the stairs, which drew the attention of his mother.

 

“Dean, honey,” Mary said as she peeked out of the living room. “What’s going on?”

 

At the sound of John opening his bedroom door, Dean put his finger to his mouth and urged her toward the master bedroom with his hand on her back. She hurried alongside him and locked the door quietly. Dean opened the bedroom window, trying to find the right words. He had rehearsed coming out speeches of so much better quality. This was the worst possible way for this to transpire. He guffawed at the complete lack of elegance he had to present this in.

 

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” he began. “But I wanted you to hear it from me, not him.”

 

Mary simply nodded, paying no mind to the footsteps that were rapidly making their rounds through the house.

 

“I like guys,” Dean said with a sigh. “I like girls, too. But, uh… Yep. So that’s that. Sorry, you had to find out this way.”

 

His mom smiled. “I already knew, sweetheart.”

 

Dean looked from the open window to his mom, who brought him in for a hug. He collapsed into her arms, the adrenaline keeping him hypervigilant melting away. For the first time since his dad walked in on him, he could actually feel the world around him. He exhaled as his muscles relaxed and breathing leveled.

 

“You… you did?”

 

“Of course, honey. I’m your mother, I saw hints here and there. I just didn’t want to say anything until you were ready to talk about it.”

 

Dean felt a sob fighting its way up his throat. “Mom…”

 

“I love you, Dean.”

 

Tears rolled down his cheeks and onto her shoulder. At least one of them still loved him. He held her tighter, wishing he didn’t have to do what he was about to do. What he  _ had  _ to do. “Dad’s really mad.”

 

“I hear him,” she replied. The heavy footsteps were approaching the locked door. “Please be careful.”

 

He kissed his mother’s cheek and pulled away. He ran his hand over his red, wet eyes. Both of them flinched when John banged at the door. They didn’t have much time.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” he whispered.

 

Mary nodded, pushing him towards the window as she raised her voice to respond to the heavy knock. “One second, John. I’m getting dressed.”

 

“Dean in there?” the angry voice bellowed from the other side.

 

“I haven’t seen him,” Mary replied as Dean slipped out the window. She shut it behind him and closed the curtains before tossing her shirt onto the bed. Right after unlocking the door, she reached for her discarded top, rolling it up to put back on as her husband stomped in.

 

“Do you know where he is?”

 

“No, John,” Mary answered patiently. “I haven’t seen him around. Did you check his room?”

 

“Yeah, that’s where the little brat ran off on me.” Obviously only half-listening, he began lifting up pillows and looking under the bed. “You sure he ain’t been in here?”

 

“Yes dear, but is something going on?”

 

John flung the closet door open and pulled the hanging cord. He nearly tore it out as the light snapped on. “Caught him in bed with… with another boy.” His last couple of words sounded sickly.

 

Mary bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of where to go from here. She hoped he would go on without any noises from her, which he did.

 

“It was bad enough to disgrace our family with pre-marital relations, but now this?” He shook his head and closed the closet door. “Can you believe it? What did I do wrong? Where did I fail, that my own son would be so confused as to deviate from nature?” He rubbed his face and sat on the soft mattress.

 

Mary held clenched fists behind her back. “Now, John. Let’s try to be understanding.” She knew this conversation had to happen eventually. She just wished it didn’t have to be when he was so heated. The only way to de-escalate was to appeal to his pride; to use his own words. It wasn’t what she really wanted to say, but until she could calm him down, it was the only move she had. “It’s times like these that we must utilize God’s grace.”

 

The words clearly reached him, but something lay beyond his gaze that was not only graceless but bordering on treacherous. “I’m going to find him.”

 

Mary stood completely still. “And then?”

 

John shook his head defiantly, then shot up and stormed out. “Ain’t no son of mine stayin’ a homosexual. Not on my watch.”

 

* * *

 

At first, he didn’t know where he was running; he just knew he had to get as far away from home as possible. Where could he go that his father couldn’t reach? Everywhere his friends lived, there also lived church-going parents who would squeal on him. He was halfway into town when he realized he had been making a beeline for Bobby’s shop. 

 

He panicked when he realized he hadn’t grabbed a single thing from home. Pausing at an intersection, he emptied his pockets, finding a few crumpled up bills, his driver’s license, and work keys. No cell phone, house keys, or car keys. He slumped against the crosswalk pole and glanced down the street. He would stay in Bobby’s shop overnight.

 

After entering in the alarm code, Dean set his things on the bathroom sink and took a long look at the person in the mirror. He was on the run. Homeless, essentially. With six bucks to his name and not a single person to call. He had Cas’ number memorized, but he wasn’t in the mood for it right now. Why hadn’t that moron just zapped him off, too? His knuckles whitened under his intense grip on the sink. Couldn’t he catch one goddamn break?

 

He leaned down and rested his head on his arm to keep from swinging it into the mirror. Fright gave way to anger. Of course,  _ of fucking course _ , his life would take a turn like this. After everything he did right, the universe still found a way to punish him. He only ever wanted to help make the world better, and he did, on many occasions. It just wasn’t the way his dad said he should. And now here he was, in fear for his life, hiding in an employee bathroom, all alone.

 

He rubbed his eyes, hoping it would all go away. How he wished it was a nightmare. Moments prior, he exchanged names with the love of his life, only to be driven out of his own home. His mom had to cover for him as he ran from his father. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to Sammy. 

 

No, he would not awaken from this terror. Nightmares were supposed to end when you woke up. Consciousness held no such escape for Dean. He was trapped.

 

Sleep did not come to him that night. How could it? He imagined his father kicking down Sam’s door and growing impatient with him asking about Dean’s whereabouts. He thought about his teachers taking attendance the next day, raising their brows at Dean’s empty desk and his dad brushing it off as the flu. He thought about Lisa paying her mom’s bills, and Charlie looking for him at the next teen meeting. He thought about the texts that would clutter his phone screen, and how his dad would monitor them closely for any hints to lead him to his prodigal son. 

 

He thought about Castiel. The incubus might’ve been called to another job by now — a human used like a piece of currency, fucked and ingrained into his hand for his daily wages. It might’ve been disturbing for someone else, but not Dean. He knew it was just a job. A forced one, at that. Moreover, Cas was using every resource available to get time away from his incubus duties, to spend it with Dean. He was never going to ask Dean to give up something as precious as his soul, and he loved Cas even more for it. The thought warmed Dean’s heart, and the anger subsided.

 

What would his dad say to the church? Dean chuckled to himself.  _ My son has done great wickedness in the eyes of the Lord _ , he ran through his mind.  _ Behold, he has lain with a man as with a… Son, what are you doing here? What? You slept with a what now? _ Dean smiled. Maybe he should’ve told his dad, after all, just to see his face.  _ My son got fucked in the ass by a sex demon! Anoint him with oil! Cast out the evil spirit! _

 

Dean laughed to himself, perhaps because the only alternative was to scream himself hoarse while putting holes in Bobby’s walls. He stepped away from the mirror, rubbing the back of his neck. It was sore from low-simmering stress. Making his way to the chair behind the cash register, he rubbed both of his hands over the tense muscles, knots aching just beneath his skin. The motions helped relax him but did nothing to make him sleepy, so he stayed seated until the sun rose.

 

He was glad when Bobby peeped inside before unlocking the door. He wouldn’t have wanted to give the old man a coronary. As Bobby shuffled towards the register with a sour look, he slowly realized something was wrong as he made out Dean’s bloodshot eyes the closer he got.

 

“Boy, what the hell are you doing here?”

 

Of all the things he had spent the night thinking about, a response to that wasn’t one of them. He crossed his fingers on the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you, Bobby. It was already late when I arrived. Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

 

“Dean,” the gruff man said in a marginally less harsh tone. “What are you not tellin’ me?”

 

After a sigh and squinting his burning eyes, Dean leaned back in the chair. “My old man’s after me. I’ve gotta stay low.”

 

He didn’t expect the immediate acceptance, but the old fart could be surprising at times. “Okay. He runs the school during the day, right?” Dean nodded. “Then you work days in the garage. I’ll pick up nights when he’ll be on the prowl. Sound good?”

 

Dean covered up a yawn. “You don’t even know what’s going on.”

 

“Must be pretty bad, if you’re so damn scared you hightailed it to my auto shop in the middle of the night.”

 

Bobby might be a grump, but if there was one thing Dean could count on, it was for him to be supportive when it counted. His life had just changed overnight, and although the shock of it would catch up to him eventually, having someone roll with the punches along with him was… kind of nice, honestly. He let out a stale exhale, shoulders slumping against the swivel chair.

 

“He found out I’m bisexual,” Dean supplied. “He uh… took it about as horribly as expected.”

 

Until Bobby glanced at his arm, Dean hadn’t even noticed he was rubbing it through his shirt. After rolling up his sleeves, he winced at the sight of fingertip-shaped bruises wrapping around his biceps. 

 

“I was gonna ask if he hurt you, but I think I’ve got the picture,” Bobby said. Dean rolled his sleeves back over the marks and met Bobby’s comforting gaze. “You got anywhere you can shower and such?”

 

“No.”

 

“Got any money?”

 

Dean shook his head.

 

“I’ll cut your check early this week,” Bobby offered. “I know the guy who owns the gym in town. You can shower there. He won’t kick you out if you set up camp there, either.”

 

“Bobby —”

 

“Would you relax? I’m not pitying you. Your day shifts start today. I’ll be back in time for your first appointment in the garage. Don’t fall asleep on any of the customers.”

 

By the time Dean could comprehend what was happening, Bobby was long gone. Once again alone with his thoughts, he leaned over the counter and felt the heavy tug of sleep settling on him. This recent exchange gave a myriad of new things to think about: using his check to buy soap and a spare outfit, meeting the gym owner, his unforeseeable future in a repair garage. But he couldn’t concentrate on any of it. Instead, he laid his head across his arms and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Bobby’s deadpan list of things to do rattled Dean out of his slumber. He remembered where he was halfway through a sentence about opening up a new bank account, if his current one was still co-owned by his dad, which it was. He opened the account when he was twelve, but of course, needed an adult’s signature. The account helped him learn about making deposits and monitor his spending, and unfortunately, still held a large sum of cash which his dad now had access to. Dean was more concerned about John tracking him down with his electronic trail than taking money, so he took Bobby’s advice and deposited his cut check into a brand new account.

 

It made him feel like such an adult, yet behind it lurked words like  _ disgrace  _ and  _ embarrassment  _ and  _ abomination _ . He knew he had no need to feel guilty, but the long reach of his father’s influence nagged him like a broken record. Worst of all, he kept seeing his mother’s face, which had been like a ray of sunshine in the midst of a devastating storm. She wouldn’t want him to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. And that made the guilt worse.

 

Now on his way back to the shop with two hundred dollars in the bank and a crisp twenty dollar bill in his pocket, Dean swung by the only fast food joint nearby for his first bite of food in nearly twenty-four hours. It was only after his first bite of the ham biscuit that he realized he was starving. He wolfed down the rest, chasing it with all thirty-two ounces of sweet tea before getting hiccups and nearby upchucking every bit. He held his mouth shut, swallowing it all back as he leaned against the shop exterior. After getting his stomach under control, he walked through to ask Bobby about today’s first drop off.

 

“Don’t eat so fast, idgit. I don’t feel like cleaning up after you.”

 

“You saw that, huh?”

 

“The sedan back there needs state inspection. It’s the Miltons’.”

 

Dean nodded. “The Miltons’. So you’re telling me to pass their car, no matter what.”

 

“That’s not what I said,” Bobby snarked. “That family has been coming to me for their inspections since before you were born. Just… go easy on ‘em, alright? ‘Sides, they take decent care of their vehicles.”

 

“So,” Dean drawled with a raised brow, “pass their car?”

 

“Yeah, smartass. Pass their damn car. Now get back there.” Bobby picked up a newspaper by the cash register and swatted towards the garage with it.

 

Dean tried to turn away before his smirk took over his entire face. He could see the car through the shop window and turned up a lip. “Sure hope the inside is prettier than the outside. Yikes.”

 

“If there are any actual problems, besides the paint peeling off --”

 

“That front light’s out,” Dean said with a pointed finger. “I can tell and the car ain’t even on.” He looked back to see a very unamused Bobby glaring at him. Without another word, Dean disappeared into the garage, immediately relaxed by the smells of a repair shop. He snapped the radio on and got to work, allowing his mind to drift away from his many current problems and focus instead on just this one thing. Just the Milton car. It was singular and simple, and exactly what Dean needed.

 

After the inspection, Dean brought the papers to Bobby, who promptly yanked him aside. His boss’ eyes darted across the shop to make sure they were hidden by the extra slab of wall separating the garage from the shop.

 

“Wasn’t too sure if you wanted ‘er to see ya, but that Masters gal is in,” he said softly.

 

Dean’s eyes lit up. “She’s cool, I don’t mind her.” He needed to tell Bobby the short list of people he wouldn’t be thrown into a panic over seeing, but that had to wait until later. Taking long strides throughout the shop, he peeked into each aisle until he caught sight of dark hair.

 

“Meg,” he said, an unpreventable smile arising.

 

Her puzzled look was cured once she turned around. “Hey, you!” She placed the coolant back on the shelf and slapped his shoulder before erasing her grin. “It’s Miss Masters, young man.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

 

Dean lifted a brow. “Shouldn’t you?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sick. The brats have a substitute today.”

 

“‘Sick’, huh?” Dean enunciated the word clearly, with air quotes. “But not sick enough that you can’t roll into town and go shopping?”

 

“I’m running errands, you smart alec, not shopping. And if being sick of teaching fifth grade all day followed by nights on end of super exciting paperwork, giving me zero time for taking care of my poor excuse of a car doesn’t count… Bite me, I guess?”

 

“Easy, Jeffrey Dahmer.”

 

“Okay, your turn.” Meg picked the coolant back up and made her way to the counter. “What’s got you putting in extra hours at the expense of your totally elite education?”

 

Dean huffed through his nose. They always did hire anyone with a pulse and anything resembling a degree. Sometimes that was replaced with “equal parts experience.” The small, private school was anything but upper class, despite how almost everyone acted. Meg was one of the only people who ever audibly stated the fact of the matter. Her constant satire about the school’s shortcomings was like balm to Dean’s soul, and for that, she had his respect.

 

“It’s complicated,” he began. How much should he be telling people? It was still so early on in his exile, he wasn’t sure how to tell someone employed by his father that the church poster child was no longer welcome in his own home. School too, by extension, but he wasn’t ready to out himself as a dropout, either. Not just yet. “Just do me a favor and… don’t tell my dad I’m here.”

 

Meg’s forehead creased in confusion. “Alright, sounds like drama, but my lips are sealed.”

 

“It is,” he chuckled humorlessly. “You have no idea. Oh and, I kinda left home in a hurry and didn’t grab my cell phone. So if you see Lisa or Benny or Charlie, will you let them know I’m not ignoring them?”

 

Charlie didn’t attend the school, so she would have to wait until this coming Sunday night. The others would be easy. “Yeah, sure.” Meg heaved the coolant onto the counter. “Wait, you had to leave so quick, you left your cell phone? Dude, did you get kicked out or something?”

 

Dean looked down and bit his lip. He rang up her item and pressed total. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

 

“You want me to get Sam to sneak your phone out so I can bring it up here?”

 

Eyes shooting back up, Dean beamed as Meg inserted her chip card to complete the transaction. “That’d be awesome. You two be careful. Our dad is…” he trailed off. He couldn’t expound on the temper thing either. “Nevermind. Sam will know what to do; he’s a smart kid. Just tell him the phone should be on my dresser.”

 

“Got it,” Meg affirmed, taking the coolant without bothering with a bag or receipt. “Anything else you need?”

 

“I’m good, thanks.” Dean’s gratitude was genuine. He had someone after all, who wasn’t out for his hide. Maybe she would let him do a load of laundry at her place, after he had the chance to buy a change of clothes. Once he had his phone back, he could get it all in order. He could keep in contact with his few real friends, hopefully creating a survival system in the process that would keep him safe. And he needed to call Cas. 

 

Before she swung the front door open, Meg glanced back. “Take it easy, Dean.”

 

“That’s Mr. Winchester to you.”

 

Meg thumbed her nose as the door swayed shut behind her. Dean allowed his heart to swell under his improved mood. This might not be so horrible. He had a few good friends. And Cas. And maybe that’s all he needed anyway.

 

* * *

 

The gym floor was uncomfortable, to say the least, but his drawstring bag of belongings made an adequate pillow. Right after his shift at Bobby’s he bought a pack of underwear and two t-shirts, as well as the cheap drawstring bag. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to put dirty clothes. Bobby had told his friend to expect company, but Dean didn’t talk to the guy until he showed up at the gym for his first night in. His name was Rufus, and he was the only man Dean had ever met that actually gave Bobby’s grumpiness a run for his money.

 

Dean slept behind the check-in station, on a squishy mat Rufus stood on during open hours. The gym was closed from ten at night to five in the morning, which were the hours available to try and get some sleep. Three of them were spent twisting and turning into a marginally comfortable position. 

 

Constantly on the cusp of awakening, Dean lay sprawled out on his back, chest heaving with breaths that never quite slowed to a healthy sleeping rate. He accepted long before falling into a slumber that tonight’s rest would be patchy at best. At this point, he was simply experimenting with how the mat would make his back feel in the morning.

 

His dreamless sleep was interrupted by the soft brush of taut skin on his hand. When his sleep-muddled eyes squinted open, he jumped awake at the sight of a pair of glowing blue eyes hovering over him in the midst of total darkness.

 

“Cas?” he rasped, moving his hand to feel one of Cas’ wings at his side.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

“What the f— How did you… You scared me.”

 

“I apologize. It was not my intention to awaken you. You weren’t sleeping very soundly.”

 

“How very observant of you.” Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, letting him pull them both up to a seated position. Every limb felt like lead. What time was it? He looked around the area but it was too dark to see the analogue clock on the wall above the check-in station. “Cas, I’m really glad to see you, but how did you find me?”

 

Castiel hunched down beside Dean and wrapped a wing around him to support his back. “I looked for you for hours. First the church, then back to your house, and then your workplace. The strengthened soul bond led me to you. As I got closer, I felt your presence stronger. Your scent here is weak, but once I was close enough, I could smell it. Dean, did something happen to the mobile device you gave me?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly have time to take it before my dad started grabbing at me. Which brings up the question, why didn’t you just take me with you?”

 

Cas lowered his head. “Actually, I tried. I’m sorry, my love, I truly am. But the pending bond, while having good effects, also appears to be affecting my ability to teleport others with me. It took extra power just for me to find you.”

 

“You’re powering down?”

 

“Slowly,” Cas replied. “As I work closer to permanent sanctuary, the powers that make me an incubus begin diminishing. By the time we are one in spirit, I will look human and no longer have the ability to be summoned magickally or teleport.”

 

“So whatever the rest of the process is, we’ve gotta finish it all at once.”

 

“That would make things immensely easier for me.”

 

The only thing illuminating Dean was the unearthly glow of Cas’ eyes, but he nodded his acceptance anyway. Just when he thought things might be getting simpler. He should’ve known better than to assume. 

 

“Your sorry ass owes me a kiss for takin’ off like that.”

 

“I don’t believe the hindquarters of homo-sapiens or demons alike are equipped for —”

 

Dean broke Cas’ statement with a hard smack on the mouth. He scooted between Cas’ hunched legs, wrapping his hands around the scaled neck and begging entrance to his mouth with his tongue. He knocked Cas off balance, landing on top of him to deepen the kiss. 

 

Words couldn’t express how comforted Dean was by Cas’ presence. Life sucked at the moment, and honestly, things hadn’t stopped sucking since the moment his bedroom door flew open, but seeing Cas again centered his focus. The future was uncertain, but right now? They had this moment, and he wouldn’t waste it. 

 

“Now then, where were we? Before we were so rudely interrupted?”

 

“Dean,” Cas puttered between kisses. Dean’s bulge was quickly swelling against his own and he was quickly losing interest in all but the man above him. “Dean, why are… Dean, wait… Why are you here anyway? What… what happened?”

 

“Does it matter? We’re here now.” Dean laced their fingers together and kissed each of Cas’ knuckles. He loved this being. He loved him with every piece of his soul. Nothing else in the world mattered except this. He could survive this horrible excuse of a life and all its trials, for the sake of this one person. What was that quote about tolerating a world of demons for the sake of one angel? Like that, but the opposite.

 

“But you said your father was grabbing you.” With Dean’s lips no longer on his, he could form sentences without getting interrupted. “He was quite vexed, was he not?”

 

“Yeah, Cas, he was ‘quite vexed’,” Dean repeated impatiently. “Now can you please fuck me until I forget it all?”

 

“Please, Dean. Just tell me what’s going on, and I will.”

 

Dean sighed in exasperation, sitting back on his heels with one hand still holding Cas’. “He started a tirade of how sinful I am, and then I let it slip that you’re a dude, and he... man, Cas… I thought he was gonna kill me.” He shook his head, willing away the look in his father’s eyes. “I took off with just what was in my pocket. Didn’t say bye to Sammy or anything. I told my mom and then climbed out her window. It all happened so fast… Shit.” Dean recoiled into a ball as the images came rushing back.

 

Cas deflated at the news. “You have lost everything, and it’s my fault.”

 

“No, shut up.”

 

“You risked every part of your life, fled your home, all on my account. And what have I to give you in return?”

 

Dean released his arms from around his knees to blurt out, “Dammit Cas, you’ve given me yourself.” He held Cas’ shoulders, pulling him tenderly forward. “That’s all I wanted anyway. You’re enough, man.” When Cas inhaled for a long-winded response, Dean placed a finger over his mouth. “I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I’ll make it. I’ve got all I need, right here.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment, dear one. But you must also think practically. Rest assured, the feeling is mutual. You are my only desire, day and night. But what of your sustenance during those days and nights? I have nothing to offer you to assist in your survival.”

 

“I’ll be okay, seriously. I’m resourceful like that.”

 

“And if your location is discovered? What then? Your father does not take kindly to the activities in which we partake.”

 

“Heh, understatement,” Dean chuckled.

 

“What will he do, if he finds you?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I thought about skippin’ town, but I know people here. I don’t know anybody out there. Here, even though I have enemies, I have allies, too. Do I feel safe? Nah, not even a little bit. But the thought of leaving with no job and no phone doesn’t make me feel any safer. If someone tattletales on me, I’ll run. And I’ll figure it out from there.”

 

Cas cocked his head. “Will law enforcement assist your father in his search?”

 

Dean leaned back again. His butt was really starting to hurt. “I didn’t think about that. I’ve got until tonight before he can file a missing person’s report. And I’m eighteen, so if I don’t wanna be found…” He recalled Sheriff Mills. It was risky, but it was all he had. “I’ve gotta go to the police station.”

 

It was no less dark, but Dean’s eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see Cas begin to relax. “Having them off your trail will be vastly beneficial.”

 

“I’ll go as soon as I’m outta here for the day,” he decided. “Now, how about that ‘to be continued’ session from yesterday? Or are you gonna blueball me again?”

 

Cas lunged forward, smattering their mouths together and once again igniting the fire between them. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Dean Winchester.” The approving groan pulled from Dean’s throat egged him on, the minutes following becoming a blur of pushing and pulling Dean’s clothes off. 

 

“Say it again,” he begged once naked and squirming under Castiel. His name on the creature’s lips was like a drug. His head swam with the need to hear it. 

 

“Come without me touching you, and that will be your reward,” came the sultry reply.

 

Dean whined as Cas reached between Dean’s legs. His tight, puckered ass jolted at Cas’ touch, but after a minute of rolling his thumb around the opening, Dean was dipping down to meet the needed touch. A single finger slipped into the warm tightness, and Dean hissed in a stream of air, expecting a flare of sharp pain in the absence of lubricant. When the finger moved inside him with ease, his ass muscles relaxed, enabling Cas to thrust in and out smoothly.

 

“It feels so good, Cas,” he murmured into Cas’ neck. “Someday I’m going to do this to you. Think about that. Every little thing you do to me tonight, I’m going to do to you. Would you like that, Cas? Me opening you up, fucking you with my fingers?”

 

It was all Cas could do to hold back from moaning Dean’s name, instead, he pressed his lips shut and let out a deep, guttural groan. He inserted another finger, careful to keep his claws unextended, and sped up his thrusts. Both of their erections grew, occasionally bumping and sending currents of desire through their bodies. Cas wanted so badly to take them both in his hands, to jack them off close and hot, but he couldn’t toy around the line between Dean’s pleasure and his own. Not when Dean was so vulnerable. They couldn’t mess up the plan now.

 

“Castiel,” Dean whispered, smiling when the mention sent a chill down Cas’ spine. He ran his fingers down the demon’s back, chasing the shudder and pressing him closer. “More, I want more.” He trailed his lips and nose across Cas’ ear as he spoke, kindling sparks that went straight to his dick. He wanted so badly to raise his hips to grind against Cas, to give relief to the throbbing ache between his legs. But more than that, he wanted his reward. He wanted to hear his beloved say his name again.

 

A barely audible gasp left Dean as a third finger was inserted. He could feel himself opening up around Cas’ strong, long strokes. “Another,” he rasped, barely loud enough to hear had Cas not been within an inch of his mouth. 

 

Cas added his pinky, now dizzy with the desire to fuck Dean senseless. His human knew exactly what he was doing. Dean was putting it off and making him crazy. Cas curled his fingers upward, and Dean bucked involuntarily as his eyes widened.

 

“Fuck, Cas, right there. Yes, that’s it. Oh fuck. Ohh, fuck.”

 

Dean was getting there. He closed his eyes. His mouth opened to make room for deep breaths that signaled his impending orgasm. His grip on Cas’ shoulders tightened, and right before he came, Cas removed his hand, leaving Dean in a fit of protests.

 

“The fuck, Cas? Fuck you, I was almost there. You motherf--”

 

At the first touch of velvety tongue to his cock, Dean lost the ability to form words. He tossed his head back and tangled his fingers in Cas’ thick hair as the incubus sucked at his tip. Every nerve ending in his body was being stimulated, all leading right there, to the head inside Cas’ mouth. He quickly worked Dean back up, sucking and licking and plunging his mouth all the way down to Dean’s pelvis.

 

Dean was absolutely certain Cas made it clear he wanted to come untouched, but maybe he changed his mind. There was no way Dean was questioning it. He grinned in ecstasy as Cas sucked the air out of his cheeks, making a tight, wet channel for Dean’s cock. He slid up and down his shaft, using calculated swirls of his tongue. Dean grew delirious as all the blood rushed to his abdomen, and he began stuttering disjointed phrases as he approached orgasm once more.

 

Cas pulled off with a pop, eliciting a devastated cry from Dean. “Cas!” came the first clear word in a long line of incoherence. “Why? Cas, please. Cas… Cas…”

 

And in one smooth stroke, Cas fully seated himself inside Dean’s ass. The sudden movement made Dean jump back, but he quickly realized what was happening and coaxed his muscles into compliance. When Cas’ glowing eyes rose to meet his, Dean wrapped his legs around his waist and held on for dear life as Cas began plowing into him mercilessly.

 

“Ahh, yes,” he slurred slowly. “You fuck me s’good, Cas.” Being split wide open by Castiel was exquisite. The much stronger creature above him spared nothing to show him just how powerful he was; Dean got a glimpse with every fuck. He felt the immense, otherworldly power every time the demon’s cock plunged into him. His eyes rolled back as Cas angled up and hit his prostate.

 

“Harder,” Dean graveled. “I need to feel you everywhere. You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. You won’t hurt me. Give it to me harder.”

 

Cas huffed against Dean’s shoulder as he drove into him with severity. He was sure he could, indeed, hurt Dean if he wanted to, but the human’s trust in him was winsome and encouraged him on. He felt himself graze that rough spot deep inside on every pass, and if Dean’s open-mouthed groans were any indication, he was on the verge. This time, Cas didn’t pull out, or stop, or tease. He snapped into him brutally as Dean’s balls tightened, and looked between them as Dean painted himself with his come by the pale light of the moon.

 

“Fuck,” Dean gasped as he emptied himself. A stream of come splattered Cas’ stomach, which gave Dean a proud sense of possession as his spurts grew weaker. Cas slowed his movements in time with Dean’s release, pulling out once the smell of hot blood in his cock weakened. Dean looked down to see both of them covered in his spend, and smiled into the kiss Cas insisted on.

 

Once Cas released his lips, Dean could see his face in the white glow of the moon spilling into the glass doors. He watched Cas’ lips say it. “Dean,” Cas finally stated with all the purpose of a holy vow. “You are mine, Dean.”

 

“Hell yes I am,” Dean said with a peck on Cas’ cheek. “And I’m gonna make you mine. Just you watch.” His smile dropped when he glanced up at the clock above the check-in station. “It’s almost five. I gotta wash this off before Rufus gets here.” He stood, cupping his hands at his stomach to keep come from dripping onto the mat. “You ever taken a shower?”

 

“I don’t believe that’s a necessary practice for incubus hygiene.”

 

“Well, you wanna join me?”

 

Dean’s wiggly brows suggested more than just cleaning, and Cas was okay with that. “Of course.”

 

Showering together might have been a first for Cas, but Dean wouldn’t have known it if Cas hadn’t told him. He dipped his head under the stream and shook, water flinging onto the tiles. He curled his wings in to maximize the surface area wetted, and fluttered them to distribute the water droplets. Dean chuckled at the head tilt washing his body elicited, which ended with Cas taking the bath sponge and spreading the suds all over Dean’s body.

 

“So,” Dean said as Cas massaged his head full of soap. “You told me I had to come untouched, but then you put your mouth on me. What was that about?”

 

Slightly hunching over, Cas diverted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be sorry, that’s not what I…” Dean huffed a short sigh. “That’s not what I was getting at.”

 

“I couldn’t help myself.”

 

A smug twinkle reached his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

 

Cas nodded weakly before glancing back up. “When I’m with you, I enjoy it. When I feel your touch, I sense that it’s not just for your pleasure, but for both of ours. It makes me feel… valued. And when I allow myself to accept that, sometimes I cannot help but give more than I promised.”

 

While rinsing his head off under the shower spray, Dean searched for an adequate reply. Cas could be so mushy when he wanted. It was sweet and genuine, and Dean had no idea how to respond to it. He was ready for a dirty confession about not being able to resist his cock. A deeper look into his psyche and the uniqueness of what they shared, that, he was not expecting.

 

“You make me feel… like everything is going to be okay,” Dean found himself saying. He just opened his mouth and the words came out. He gave no premeditated thought; the thoughts that were always there but never found their way past his tongue came willingly once he just stopped overthinking. “Like I’m coming home.”

 

Ironic, since he didn’t really have one of those at the moment. Or the assurance that his mother and brother were safe. Now that his own safety was in jeopardy, the whole “out for blood” thing if John laid a hand on Mary or Sam still stood, but was made infinitely more complicated. It was the very thing Dean couldn’t bring himself to dwell on this morning, if he was going to stay sane long enough to visit the police station with a clear head.

 

Cas held Dean gently and enveloped them both in his black wings as the water continued to patter down. His claws wandered down the curve of Dean’s back aimlessly, never escalating, his only goal in mind to touch, explore, feel. The water on Dean’s skin added a new dimension to the sensation, his scent multiplied by every droplet bearing the privilege of rolling down his body.

 

He moved up, splaying his palms across Dean’s chest. Cas watched the rise and fall of his chest with every relaxed breath. His nipples hardened under the light roaming of Cas’ fingertips, followed by a short, pleased sound from his throat. Dean closed his eyes when Castiel brushed his lips across his, never quite officializing it by pressing them together or sucking into a pucker.

 

Dean returned the tender touches by carding his fingers through Cas’ thick, dark hair. A low rumble escaped Cas’ throat and his wings wrapped around Dean tighter. Their slow motions gave succor amidst the tumultuous circumstances in which they found themselves. Although fast, greedy, messy sex was good, this was good too. No intensity. No expectations. No race to the finish line. Just exploring each other with molasses-slow movements, memorizing every curve, every reaction.

 

It wasn’t what either expected to be doing at that moment, but that was okay. Neither had experience in something so effortless and intimate, and they welcomed it. This was needed. This knitted them together tighter. This made them stronger. It was healing, bonding, and liberating. It was theirs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think you could escape the angst so easily? *maniacal laughter*


	12. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hasn't returned home in two days, and John takes matters of finding him into his own hands.

“Sheriff Mills?” Dean greeted. He really didn’t want to have to chase her inside, so he was relieved to catch her just exiting her patrol car. 

 

“Dean,” she replied with a skeptical smile. “What’s going on?”

 

“I need to talk to you. Preferably not in there.” Dean cocked his head towards the police station. The place was swarming with cops, and he approximated about fifty percent of them kissed-ass enough to turn him into his father, whether or not Dean wanted them to. He lucked out wandering into the parking lot before someone else had the chance to pull her attention away.

 

Jody opened her door again and motioned towards the passenger’s side. “Have a seat.”

 

She didn’t restart the car, but it was still warm from the heat being on just seconds prior. Dean slipped in and shut the door, scanning the parking lot for anyone looking at him funny. Rufus had assured him, in his own off-handed way, that he was welcome to stay at the gym until his shift at the auto shop, but Dean politely declined this time around. The few moments he had before a search party broke out were precious, and he was lucky enough to catch the sheriff herself early Saturday morning.

 

“My dad’s going to call in a disappearance. Today, if he hasn’t already.”

 

“Whose disappearance?”

 

“Mine.”

 

Jody sat against the headrest, the news taking her back slightly. “What makes you think he’s going to call that in?”

 

Dean shrugged noncommittally. “The fact that I took off.”

 

“You ran away?”

 

Rolling his eyes wasn’t going to gain any favors from Lawrence’s finest, but it was involuntary. “You make it sound like I’m twelve years old. Yeah, I ran away. And I don’t want him on my tail. I’m eighteen, going on nineteen. I can move out if I want.”

 

“I respect that,” she assured him. “It just sounds like there’s a lot you’re not saying.”

 

“You’re right, there’s a crap ton I’m not saying. And I’m not going to, either. I just need you to promise you’re not going to listen to him when he comes in all preachy about his prodigal son needing to come home.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

“And I don’t care if he gives you those crocodile tears, and says you’re in some sort of spiritual debt, he’s — Wait, what?”

 

“You heard me. I won’t give him an inch.”

 

Dean peered at her inquisitively. “What’s it gonna cost me?”

 

Sheriff Mills chuckled lightly. “Dean, my job is to enforce the law. You’ve made it clear that you do not want to be found. At this point, sending a search party after you would be an infringement of your rights as an adult. My silence — or the silence of anyone, for that matter — shouldn’t cost you a dime.”

 

“Some goody-two-shoes in that building over there would disagree.”

 

Jody glanced over at the police station. “I know. Your dad’s reach is long in this town, that’s for sure.”

 

“So you’re telling me that you’re sworn to secrecy, but you probably won’t be able to convince everyone under you?”

 

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “I’ll make a general announcement, and pair up those loyal to me with those loyal to your dad. I’ll tell my best officers the specifics, so they can keep a close watch on anyone who might try to finagle their way around my orders.”

 

Dean pondered the plan. It was patchy, at best. It put far too much trust in the frail allegiance of human beings. His dad had a way with words. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here right now, pleading his case to the sheriff. Still, it was good to know at least one person had his back.

 

“Thanks,” he said meekly. “It’s all a big mess right now and… and I can’t let him find me.”

 

“It does sound messy, but that’s your business.” Jody might be a cop, but she wasn’t invasive. Sometimes less was more, in personal matters such as this. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but if you ever do --”

 

“I won’t,” Dean interrupted with a glare. He opened the door. “Thank you, Jody. I’ve gotta get outta here before one of your bitches in blue sees me.”

 

Jody raised a brow but smiled as she shook her head. “Stay safe, Dean.”

 

And he intended to. All the way to Bobby’s shop he took caution, knowing full well there was a price on his head starting today. Every slowing vehicle, even if it was at a stoplight, set him on edge. He felt dozens of eyes on him, like some sort of fugitive, and wondered if anyone from church had spotted him and wondered why he wasn’t at the door-to-door visitation.

 

Upon reaching the shop, he noticed a plastic bag hanging from the doorknob. He unlocked the shop and turned the sign to “open” before assuming his position behind the counter and inspecting the bag.

 

The first thing he pulled out was his cell phone, to his delight, followed by a charging cord and a folded up piece of paper. Sam must have been a genius to pull a Houdini like that. Kudos to Meg as well, for passing it off before Saturday morning door-knocking. He plugged in his battery-drained phone and settled in to read the note.

  
  


_ Dean, _

 

_ You have no idea how hard this was to sneak out of the house. You’re welcome. I put a look-alike in its place since Dad was guarding this one with his life. He keeps thinking you’ll come back for it, or one of your friends will text him info he can use to find you, or whatever else is running through his whacked out brain.  _

_ Oh, and I deactivated the GPS chip. You’re welcome again. Don’t ask how I figured out how to do that.  _

_ I’m really pissed I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Mom told me everything. I didn’t know you were bi for sure, although that time at the lock-in with the Ouija board was a pretty big hint. I thought you were just sticking your neck out for the rest of us at first. But now that I know, that makes a lot more sense. _

_ It sucks that Dad is being such a douche about it. It’s probably best that you ran away. I don’t want him to hurt you again, so stay hidden until we can figure out what to do. _

_ Mom is good. Dad hasn’t done anything crazy since you left, so don’t worry about us. I can take care of her while you’re gone. You can text me during school hours, so Dad won’t know we’re talking.  _

_ I’m sorry I can’t help more. Being fifteen really sucks. I wish we could see each other for Christmas but that probably won’t happen, so I’ll save your presents for when it’s safe to come home. Dad might never treat you the same again, but I always will. You’re my brother and nothing is going to change that. _

 

_ See you around, jerk _

_ Sam _

 

_ P.S. Miss Masters says hi and you’re welcome for delivering “the goods” _

  
  


Dean took a breath and wiped his face. He was crying. This wasn’t going to get any easier. Being away from Sam and his mom. Hiding from a dad that basically owned the souls of the whole town. Searching for the rest of the incubus and human union recipe. Overthrowing his dad’s tyrannical rule. Sure, he had already made peace with the beginning being hard, but this just solidified the absurdity of his lofty goals.

 

He wanted it all. A happy mom and safe brother. Friends he could go to at any given moment. Friends and family that were free from the tight clutch of the controlling organization they called church. A life with Castiel. 

 

A father who loved him, no matter what.

 

It was all too much. He was asking for too much. He was fighting for something impossible. Dean sniffed with his tilted his head back, using gravity to force his runny nose and teary eyes back into submission. This was not helping. Being a cry baby wouldn’t get him anywhere, but right now, it didn’t look like anything would. For all his effort in being the bigger person, doing what he knew was right instead of what his dad said was right, and being himself — where had that gotten him?

 

Sleeping on a floor mat and hiding in an auto shop. Dean began to wonder if his dad would burst in today. It was his workplace, after all. Usually, that was the first place people searched if they were looking for someone. He watched the front door with hawk-eyed vigilance, tapping the counter to get out nervous energy. After four hours of the occasional call setting up repair appointments, a shadow approached the door from down the sidewalk, and Dean held his breath.

 

It was Bobby. Dean let out the tension in his shoulders and nodded as his boss hobbled in. “What’s with you?”

 

“This dang hip in the winter,” Bobby barked. “I can’t do nothin’ without it acting up. I lie down, it hurts. I work, it hurts. Getting old sure is fun.” He peered disapprovingly at Dean’s hesitant simper. “What are you laughin’ at, princess? I don’t see you jumping at the chance to refill the empty shelves. What’s your excuse? Was there a pea under your mattress at Rufus’ gym?”

 

Dean stood to his feet. Although Bobby’s salty rant only made it harder to hold in his smile, he disguised it as compliance and made his way to the glaringly empty rack of headlight bulbs. There was something oddly comforting about the old man’s tough love. Maybe he was a masochist, or just that damaged, but the assurance of Bobby’s predictability grounded him in a way that his own father’s parenting never did.

 

“He’s real nice, your friend Rufus,” Dean piped up after slipping a few bulbs on the grid wall.

 

“Rufus? Nice? Shoulda’ called the ambulance. Son of a bitch sounds like he up and had a stroke.”

 

Dean clamped his hand over his mouth to keep the chuckle down his throat. He had lied through his teeth; Rufus was rough around the edges, just like Bobby. He brought it up just to get a reaction but was glad to hear that Rufus was like that in general and that he wasn’t singling Dean out.

 

“He said if I get fingerprints on the glass before opening time, he’ll skin me alive.”

  
  
“Ah, now that sounds like Rufus. He’s very particular about the appearance of his business.”

 

Dean closed the understock cabinet and moved on to the wheeled cart parked near the door. “Got my phone back,” he changed subjects as he straightened the antifreeze on special and adjusted the sign so more people would see it as they walked in. “Sam sneaked it outta the house.”

 

“That’s good,” were the first positive words out of Bobby’s mouth that day. He reclined in the swivel chair behind the counter. “Nobody come for you yet?”

 

Dean glanced outside. His heart rate quickened at the thought of being found. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be safe here. He knows where I work.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye out for you while you’re in the garage today. If he’s gonna come lookin’, it’s gonna be today. He’s busy all day Sundays and during school hours on weekdays. Saturdays give him the most time to search.”

 

“For someone who doesn’t go to church, you sure know the calendar.”

 

“I’m the one who makes your schedule, ya idjit. Knowing what tomfoolery you people get up to came with hiring a preacher’s kid.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Dean rattled. Preacher’s kid. He cleared his throat at the term, as if to cleanse himself of its weight. “I don’t think he’s gonna claim me for much longer.”

 

“I know your dad doesn’t take kindly to anything outside of the straight and narrow, no pun intended,” said Bobby with a compassionate lightness. “It sounds like you’re in some real trouble if he catches you. Just know that I’ve got your back, and there ain’t no hard feelings if you need to take off in a hurry. Your safety comes first.”

 

John was ready to throw Dean into the street at the sight of him in bed with Castiel, and that was before his gender was revealed. Dean wanted so desperately to believe his dad was searching for him to apologize and welcome him back, but he knew better. He was being hunted to be captured and force-fed conversion therapy. In John’s mind, Dean was no son of his. Not until he was “fixed.”

 

“Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate that.”

 

After filling all the empty spots in the shop, Bobby sent him into the garage for a couple of hours to sweep and clean the equipment. It was like therapy to Dean. The only thing that could make it better was knowing he would be riding home in that 1967 Chevy Impala. The pristine leather smell mixed beautifully with Dean’s after-work air consisting of any and all fluids a car could come in contact with. It was cleansing, like a mudroom between work and home. His heart ached to be in that driver seat once more.

 

If the welcoming smell wasn’t enough to purify him of work woes, the sound surely was. The engine’s rumble was low and constant, drowning out the voices of rude customers and the repetitive ding of Bobby’s ancient cash register. He fell into a trance as he thought of the sound, his wide sweeps slowing as the whispered roar grew louder. And then he stopped altogether. He wasn’t imagining the car’s engine.

 

He was hearing it.

 

Dropping the push broom, Dean bolted towards the back door but hid to the side, so no one peeping into his workspace would discover him. The car on the other side of the building fell silent and in a few short seconds, the bell on Bobby’s shop door jingled, and he could barely make out the words, but he knew that voice anywhere.

 

His dad was in the shop. After a few seconds of his father’s deceivingly calm tone, Bobby spoke back in an equally calm, albeit characteristically tetchy manner. Dean panicked when he remembered his phone charging on the counter but tapped his back pocket to find it there. He let out a shaky breath as their conversation continued.

 

“Sorry,” Bobby’s voice grew worryingly closer. “Customers aren’t allowed in the garage. It’s just my policy. I’m sure you understand, reverend.”

 

Dean didn’t wait to hear his dad’s response. He booked it across the concrete and into the yard full of old, decaying cars. One of the windows was already kicked out of an old Ford truck, so he dove in just as his dad came storming out the back door.

 

“I’m afraid I must insist, Mr. Singer. You wouldn’t deny a father looking for his boy, would you?”

 

“Right now, this has nothing to do with your son and everything to do with you trespassing. If you don’t go back inside, I will call the police. It’s a safety hazard for you to be back here, and I can’t afford an incident claim if something falls on your head.”

 

“You’re going to call the police?” John scoffed. “On me?”

 

“Afraid so,” Bobby drawled, his demeanor not faltering for one second. “You ignored the sign clearly posted that forbids non-employees from entry. You are ignoring my repeated requests to leave the premises. At this point, you’re breaking the law.”

 

His dad’s voice was getting closer. “Sir, I just need to know my son’s alright.”

 

Dean swallowed a terrified cry. He was hunched under the dash of a rusty old truck, its floor all but caved in under his weight. The scant concealment was aided only by the rapidly setting sun, which cast a shadow into the truck but forced him to push himself as far in as possible, lest his knees and head protrude into the sunlight.

 

Fine gravel and dirt crunched beneath John’s boots, each step’s volume minutely increasing. What nearby sparrows had been singing were now scared away from their otherwise peaceful sanctuary. A fearless crow cawed in the distance. The echo of its repetitive taunt made John pause, temporarily distracting him from his endeavor. 

 

Although he could not see beyond the car seat he faced, Dean could feel his father approaching. The only noise he made was each fearful breath, which he quieted by breathing through his nose when his dad closed the distance between him and the truck. Dean squinted his eyes shut. His dad was tapping thoughtfully on the frame; he could feel the tiny vibrations. His lip quivered in fear as his dad’s eyes roamed the inside the truck. Were his knees pulled in enough? Was he shaking in fear? Was his hair sticking out? He dared not move, nor open his eyes to find out.

 

He held his breath as John’s light patting stopped. His body stiffened. This was it. The pause was too long. John hadn’t resumed his walk. Every muscle in Dean’s body froze as he awaited the inevitable. His dad’s roaring voice. The choice words that would fly out of his mouth. The words that shouldn’t sting, but would anyway. Dean wanted to deny how much it hurt that his father hated him, but after years of being conditioned to seek his approval, it was a mighty thick apron string to cut.

 

Next would be the violent yank out of the door and onto the cold ground. And the kicks. Surely John would kick him while he was down. His gut ached with phantom pains as he relived the night his dad bruised his stomach. Or maybe he wouldn’t kick him. Maybe he would drag him up and punch his face.

 

And then he’d throw him into the car and drive him off to who-knows-where. Dean would fight back, of course, but John bested him in both brawn and resources. He would send his best ass-kissers after him and he’d be back in the passenger seat within the hour. Perhaps cuffed, perhaps with a zip tie. Or perhaps he was so damaged, he’d go without binds. Just so he could get it over with. Just to feign compliance so he could make a break for it once he had the chance.

 

A cobweb strung under the seat swayed in the frigid December breeze. Dean had opened his eyes at some point, though each second seemed like a lifetime, so it was hard to say when. A tiny, shriveled up spider dangled lifelessly from its own web, now coated with dust. The passenger seat in his direct line of sight was worn and frayed, bits of stuffing protruding out of a slit in the fabric. The floor beneath him was little more than a slab of rust. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen through already.

 

Another crunch of gravel heightened the tension once more. And then another. They grew quieter. John was walking away. Dean let out the stale air in his lungs with a heavy huff. He remained still until the steps diminished, then breathed easier as more voices joined in. He recognized one of them as Jody Mills.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Winchester. Bobby here tells me he asked you to leave the premises.”

 

“Is that right? Mr. Singer, I thought we had reached an agreement.”

 

“Agreement, my ass. Get offa’ my property.”

 

“Nice and easy now, reverend,” a new voice piped up. It was feminine and nasally, but no less stern. “I understand you wanna find your son, but he’s a tough cookie, right? You taught him that much?”

 

“Of course. He could survive in the wild with a pocket knife, I made sure of it.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” she encouraged. “He’ll turn up. Let’s get you out of Mr. Singer’s hair, okie doke?”

 

John wordlessly followed the two other sets of rocky footsteps, the buoyant chatter of the unknown cop peppering the air as their voices grew faint. Once the air was still, Dean poked his head out from under the dash. A couple of birds resumed their songs, and his boss’ hat bobbed across his line of sight from below eye level.

 

“Psst,” Dean hissed. “Over here.” He pulled himself up by the passenger seat, which ripped under his grasp due to damage from exposure to the elements. 

 

Bobby turned on his heel at the sound of Dean’s voice. “Hey, boy,” he rasped in a cautiously quiet tone. He limped the rest of the way to the truck and helped Dean up by his outstretched arm. “That was too close. Your old man really doesn’t know when to stop, does he?”

 

“He thinks he owns this whole friggin’ town.” 

 

“Not here, he doesn’t. He might hold some sorta power over those he influences, but I ain’t one of ‘em. I made it clear to Jody and Donna he ain’t welcome back. If he shows his face here again, I won’t be so friendly.”

 

Dean nodded knowingly. He thought back to the the tall, black, impossibly heavy safe Bobby kept in the back room, but Dean never asked questions. The old man was a bit of a redneck, so he always suspected a complete arsenal to be just behind that combo lock. Still, it was none of his business, so he worked around it day after day until he barely noticed the thing. The idea of a safe full of hunting rifles and shotguns used to make Dean uneasy. When pitted against the idea of his father trespassing his only safe place, the former actually sounded less scary. It just went to further show how incredibly messed up this whole drama was, and how badly Dean needed to solve it.

 

“Looks like you were about done anyway,” Bobby continued with a glance back at the garage. “It’s quittin’ time for you. Be careful out there.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. He followed Bobby back inside, where he rolled up his charging cord and stuffed it into his drawstring bag before leaving out the front door.

 

That was too close. Although blacklisting his dad lowered the chances of him combing over Bobby’s shop, it didn’t eliminate them. And there was still the matter of people actively looking for him. It was a small town; he couldn’t hide forever. Once he was spotted and started bouncing from place to place, there was no telling where he’d end up.

 

But right now, there was only one place he could think about: the library. It was quiet, people ignored each other, and he was on a mission: to find the spell that would complete the soulbond between him and the one he would fight tooth and nail to save. Cas might be too weak to fly anyone through the veil but himself, but he was still fully incubus. He was just as much back to work as Dean was, business as usual, which gave Dean time to do some much-needed research.

 

He was starting from scratch with no leads and no idea where to start. For all the odd things private religious school required him to study, demonology was not one of them, which sounded oddly counterintuitive. Must be one of those things they save for seminary.

 

Once settled in front of a computer in a private study room, Dean plugged away at the catalog system. He typed in “demons”, which yielded thousands of results. The “incubus” search turned up significantly fewer results, so he punched in “bond” after it and got nothing. He sighed as he deleted the last word and wrote down all the strands of decimals for “incubus.” This was going to be a long night. Thankfully, the library didn’t close until 9 pm on Saturdays, so he had plenty of time to enjoy the cushioned chair and central heating.

 

When all eight books failed him, he resorted to the internet. Most searches yielded little more than Wikipedia pages and speculations from amateur ghost hunters. He stumbled upon a forum comprised of terrified people who claimed to have been attacked by the demonic creatures in their sleep. Some spoke of sleep paralysis during the act; others said they actually enjoyed the encounter; many described the incubus incorrectly, which meant they were making up the story for attention.

 

Dean clicked through the thread, irritated that he now had to deal with a mix of fact and fiction. He held his head in his hands, taking a moment to clear his mind. The internet was full of noise, all vying for attention and clicks and shares. It was all a competition to see who could get the most views. The incubus stories with the most hits got bumped to the top, which happened to be the least accurate. The most popular stories were long, flowery, and embellished; full of nonsense that looked good on paper and quite frankly, sounded more like erotica than a retelling.

 

“ _ He looked me in the eyes as he drove into me _ ,” one user, SlutForDemons92 wrote. “ _ His voice was rough and sent me screaming, like a wooden roller coaster. I got whiplash from being fucked so hard, and I loved every minute of it. He said I was going to bear his offspring, and that it was an honor. I begged him to fill me with babies. I could think of nothing more sweet. _ ”

 

Dean clicked back faster than the disgusted sound could leave his throat. Enough forums for today. Back to the search engine. Back to safety.

 

The entire first page was full of crap. He revamped his search with “incubus human soul bond” and pushed Enter hard. More non-promising results that split “incubus human” and “soul bond” into two separate ideas, and showed sites that described one but not both. He looked up at the clock. 8:55pm. He added the words “blood spell ritual” as a last-ditch attempt.

 

Three pages of results came back. They were all blogs. Dean clicked on the first one, finding a WordPress website listing spells for attracting various energies and entities. He scrolled down the page and used the blog’s search bar, but found no solution for his problem. Exhausted, he returned to the search results page. Although empty-handed, he was on the right track.

 

“Excuse me,” the librarian, an older man with bifocals said apologetically as he poked his head in the door. “Just letting you know that we’re closing up.”

 

“Oh,” Dean moaned tiredly, blinking at the fuzzy spots in his vision. “Sorry. I’m… I’m leaving.” The man nodded and left the door ajar, flipping off lights in the common area as he went. He locked the door after Dean as he walked into the biting cold air.

 

Dean shivered under the sudden drop in temperature. He had an hour until the gym closed, which meant he had time to eat. Being hours after dinner, his favorite dollar taco place was empty. He enjoyed not having to worry about church members seeing him, as they were all resting up before the services tomorrow. He knew the drill. Everyone needed their beauty sleep before being on their best behavior but falling asleep halfway through the sermon.

 

The last couple of workout addicts were leaving as Dean made his way through the gym doors. Although he avoided touching the glass with the highest reverence, the people walking past him didn’t share the same sentiment and left their sweaty handprints in their wake. He pursed his lips at the sight but tore his attention away to nod in acknowledgment of the man behind the front desk.

 

“I was wondering if you were ever going to show up,” Rufus carped. “My polyurethane mat not comfy enough for you?”

 

“Nice to see you, too,” Dean responded. The cold walk from the taco restaurant to the gym woke him up, but he was too mentally spent to think of a witty response.

 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to make a little extra money, but if all you’re gonna do is lollygag before closing time…”

 

“Hold up,” Dean interjected with a raised index finger.

 

“Uh, huh. That’s what I thought. Talk money and you kids are suddenly all ears.” Rufus locked his money drawer and swung the keys on his rubber wrist coil keyring. “Cleaning supplies are in the closet across from the men’s locker room. Give this place a quick run-through twice a week and I’ll let you use the laundry room for free, plus forty bucks.”

 

“You have a laundry room?”

 

“I installed a washer and dryer for cleaning the towels,” he explained. “The members don’t know about it, so shush. My VIPs get to use it, though.”

 

“Your VIPs?” Dean asked with raised brows. “You mean people like me, with nowhere else to go?”

 

“No, I mean when the Pope visits,” Rufus snapped sarcastically. “It’s about to get busy up in here with people making new year weight loss resolutions and I need an extra hand. You up for it?”

 

At least he asked. When Bobby wanted Dean to do something he just sort of… threw it on him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

The old grump took long, tall strides to the front door and programmed the deadbolt before exiting. “See you in the morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

 

“More like Cinderella now…” Dean mumbled under his breath, but Rufus was long gone. He couldn’t complain about the opportunity for a place to wash his clothes and a little extra cash, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He was tired and the library did no good and his back hurt. On the way to the janitor’s closet, he checked his phone for the first time since he got it back.

 

He had every intention of checking it before now, but he was afraid. Of what, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A text from dad? A million missed calls from Cas? A total absence of texts and calls from his so-called “friends”? He didn’t know what to expect, after being missing for a full 48 hours, and coming back into contact with his old world sounded stressful.

 

The screen lit up. To his relief, there were texts from friends. He scrolled further down the notifications. A missed call from Benny, a Facebook message from Lisa, a voicemail from Cas. He slid his thumb across the voicemail and put the phone to his ear.

 

“Hello Dean,” replayed Cas’ staticky voice after a couple of silent seconds. He smiled when he realized it was the first time Cas had to leave a voice message. “I’m not sure if this is working or not, but....” Dean held the phone from his ear when the high, sharp pings of numbers being pushed dotted the voicemail. “...but I hope you can hear me. I am very busy with work, but will come find you as soon as I save up enough to visit again.” Another loud, accidental beep. “I hope you are safe. Please call back soon.”

 

The line fell silent for a few seconds but got staticky again as Cas ran his hands over the phone, trying to figure out how to end the call. He pushed a few more buttons, muttered something unclear, and finally, the voicemail ended. Dean bit his nail as he slipped the phone into his back pocket, opting to catch up with the rest of his notifications once the front windows were clean.

 

It was all he could do to hold back from dropping the spray bottle and microfiber cloth and call Castiel back instead. As he rubbed the fingerprints off the glass, he thought about all the things Cas had to do to work his way into a few short hours with him. He thought about the extra work on his plate with a demon of oppression who just didn’t want to let the Winchester’s house go. Cas was probably negotiating at this very moment. Or fucking someone. There was no way Dean could know, and he couldn’t let it bother him.

 

After the windows, he went straight for the workout rooms, still procrastinating answering the waiting texts. What was he going to tell them? He had to tell them something before tomorrow morning when his dad would surely get up in front of everyone he had ever known and tell his own version of what the past three days had entailed. He would send everyone on a witch hunt. John Winchester had the majority of the town wrapped around his finger; who did Dean have? Two crotchety old men and an absent incubus?

 

Dean dropped what he was doing and whipped his phone back out. He sat on an elliptical, thumbing through notifications, deciding on who to answer first. He spotted Charlie’s messages to him and read them all.

 

**> > Hey, can you give me Meg’s number? **

 

**> > Nevermind, I got it from Lisa. Is visitation fun? Thinking about driving myself so I can go with you guys.**

 

**> > We should be battle buddies on my new game. You’re allowed to play those, right? Or is that too close to Satan?**

 

**> > u ok?**

 

**> > Lisa said you weren’t on visitation. I’m kinda starting to freak out.**

 

**> > TEXT MEEEE**

 

**> > Benny doesn’t even know where you are. Now I KNOW something is wrong. **

 

**> > I stg if you don’t call me or text me or smthn we’re going to go crazy. Nobody knows where you are. Please just tell me you’re ok**

 

Dean struggled for a short message back that wouldn’t make things worse.

 

**< < Hey, I’m fine. I haven’t had my phone on me but now I do. Don’t call the cops or anything.**

 

His phone immediately started ringing.

 

“Charlie?”

 

“Winchester!” she shrieked. “Oh my god, I thought you were dead.”

 

“I’m okay,” he lied. 

 

“Not buying it. Tell me what’s going on right now, or I’ll scour the earth myself.”

 

Dean sighed. “I’m hiding.”

 

“No crap,” she retorted. “I dub thee hide and seek champion of our age.”

 

“Thanks, your worshipfulness.”

 

“You’re welcome, now why are you hiding?” She paused. “Oh god.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Your dad — ”

 

“Yep.”

 

“He knows?”

 

“I didn’t tell him on purpose, alright?”

 

“Oh geez,” Charlie breathed. “That is like, the worst possible way to come out of the closet.”

 

“Accidentally blurted out after getting caught horizontal with my boyfriend? Uh, yeah.”

 

“Holy crap. What are you going to do?”

 

Dean bit his lip. “I dunno.”

 

“Are you out in the cold right now?”

 

“No, I’ve got somewhere to sleep, at least. And I’m working.”

 

“I would invite you over, but…”

 

“I know. Your parents are in the palm of my dad’s hand. No worries, kiddo. I’m fine, for now.”

 

“Okay. Gosh Dean, you really scared me. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

 

“I’m sure. Now go to sleep. I have more people to call.”

 

“I’m a night owl, but thanks anyway. Text me tomorrow, ‘kay?”

 

“Yes, mother.” Dean hung up and dug through his messages until he got to Benny. His were less in number but just as worrisome.

 

**> > No show at school, huh? Tell me where the party’s at! I can get another joint from Gordon. Lol**

 

**> > Didn’t see you at visitation either. Your little brother is being awfully quiet. Hope everything is okay. Your dad said he asked the police to help find you. Haven’t seen any on patrol yet, but hopefully, they’ll get on it soon.**

 

Dean typed up a quick text.

 

**< < I’m fine and I’ve told the police I don’t want to be found, so if you see them patrolling the area it’s against the sheriff’s orders. I’m out to my dad and he’s on my tail. **

 

Benny didn’t take long on the response.

 

**> > Got your back, brother. Stay safe.**

 

After that was Lisa, who he entrusted with the task of alerting Jo of his conundrum. Meg already knew half the story, so he left it at that. By then it was past eleven and he still had the locker rooms to clean, so he called it quits for social interaction and got back to work. It felt good to reach out again. Much better than he anticipated, actually. Knowing a few people noticed his absence enough to do something about it made him feel like he actually belonged somewhere. If not in his own home, then at least in the hearts of those he was closest to.

 

The last text was from his mother. He saved hers for last on purpose. She knew why he was gone, so the urgency around his other notifications did not extend to her. Not only that, but he wasn’t sure he was emotionally prepared to communicate with someone from his father’s house. He took a deep breath and opened her message.

 

**> > Hi sweetie. I hope you’re doing well. Just a reminder not to use your old bank account. I saw your dad log in to see if you spent money anywhere traceable. Text me sometime Monday after school starts and let me know where I can send a package. I will delete this text after I send it, just in case your dad searches my phone. I love you and miss you. Your father acted horribly and it must’ve scary, but you need to know that keeping yourself safe by running was the right thing to do. Continue to avoid him until I can talk him down. Until that day, please stay safe. There’s nothing you can be or do that will make me think any differently of you. You’re my son and you are always welcome with open arms, as far as I’m concerned. I wish John could see that, but he only sees what he wishes to see. Looking forward to talking with you on Monday <3**

 

Dean bent over, head on his arms, and choked on a sob. He curled his knees closer and held himself, still fighting tears although he had no good reason. He was alone. Who else would know? He breathed hard and loud as the tears came, no longer able to hold back. Every emotion from the past day came rolling in. Anger. Fear. Relief. Despair. They kept coming, each showing no signs of stopping and pushing more sobs from his chest. 

 

Through heavy breaths and wet sniffs, he plugged through the workout rooms. He wiped down every weight bar, treadmill, and recumbent bike, tears eventually trailing off as he focused wholly on his tasks. It was one in the morning and he needed to calm down if he wanted to get any sleep. Into the locker-rooms he went with his spray bottle and rags, turning his attention to shower tiles and bathroom stalls. After the repetition of cleaning toilet after toilet, the exhaustion returned and he collapsed onto Rufus’ mat, this time a few towels softening his bed. He gathered a clump of the terry cloth into a pillow and fell asleep instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 will be published on March 2nd 2019, followed by chapter 14 on March 6th. Story is complete but on a twice-weekly posting schedule (every Wednesday and Saturday) until all chapters are published. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr! I'm deans-jiggly-pudding


	13. Here Is the Church, Here Is the Steeple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Winchester wastes no time alerting the congregation of his son's deviance, followed by a call to action: If anyone sees him, they are to turn him in. Although those loyal to the pastor are numerous, a silent undertow of rebels work behind the scenes in Dean's favor. But is it enough to keep him safe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few unpleasant things in this chapter I want to warn you about. If you'd rather be surprised, skip down to the main story text. I understand some of this content is quite triggering (hell, I've triggered myself writing it), so if the warnings are helpful to you, read on.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- strong homophobic language (f-slur)  
> \- religious homophobia Like Whoa  
> \- reverting back to childhood comforts in time of stress (in this case, prayer and church nursery rhymes)

“Thank you, Brother Shurley, for leading us all in  _ Take Time to be Holy _ ,” Pastor John Winchester commented after the hymn. Turning his attention to the congregation, he motioned down with an open palm and gripped his podium with the other hand. “You may be seated.”

 

The air was thick with expectancy. Word traveled fast in a small town, and even faster in an old, tight-knit church. Lisa, Benny, Jo, and Meg gave the pastor unfavorable glares from their respective seats; the only visible push-back in a sea of credulous sheep. The only unreadable expression was that of Mary Winchester, sitting front and center. Her position in front of her husband suggested passivity, but her eyes held something fierce. It could be mistaken for passion for her husband’s words if one weren’t to further search her face. It was anything but. It was maternal and aggressive and protective, like a mother bear staring down a hunter.

 

“Many of you have noticed the absence of a certain member of our family,” John began with a pious sigh. “I ask for your prayers, brothers, and sisters. Dean has fallen by the wayside and has chosen the path of sin instead of godliness. Like in the song I requested Brother Shurley to lead us in, we must examine ourselves to ensure we do not fall from grace. If it can happen to a child reared up in the righteous path, it can happen to any one of us. Stay in the word! Be vigilant!”

 

He threw his fist in the air after each emphasized phrase. Although not fully informed of the whole story, some congregants were already muttering their amens. Lisa bit the inside of her cheek and glanced across the aisle at Tessa. She was all-ears, drinking in every word of the latest spectacle from which she’d fabricate her gossip.

 

“Eventually, his sins will be revealed. You’ll either see it yourself or hear of it. So I will tell you before you hear it from someone else.” John smiled down at Mary briefly, who did not favor her husband with a smile in return. “He is possessed,” he stressed, to which a few people gasped, “by the demon of homosexuality.”

 

Tessa laid her hand over her mouth in shock. Lisa shot a glance in the other direction and saw Benny rubbing his temples. Sitting in front of her was Jo, who turned around just far enough to raise her brow at Lisa and give the  _ Is the message over yet? _ look. The congregation erupted into whispers.

 

“Instead of choosing us,” John spoke up to silence the chatter, “instead of choosing his family, and everything we hold sacred, he has chosen this. He must return home. He must return to God. Will you help me, brothers and sisters? Will you help me bring him back home, where we can cure him of this infirmity?”

 

A deep chorus of amens rumbled through the pews. John smiled and nodded, reveling in the compliance of the people before him when the sight of his wife rising from her seat tore him out of his musing. She climbed the altar steps and pulled the pulpit mic towards where she stood, at his side.

 

“I’d like a meeting with the ladies on the piano side after dismissal, please,” Mary cooed. “It’ll only take a minute.”

 

“You heard her,” John reinforced cluelessly as she made her way back down to the front row. “Let us close in prayer.”

 

Lisa bowed her head but was so far past the point of caring about anything else out of the pastor’s mouth that she couldn’t bear the thought of joining him in a pretend conversation with the deity he claimed to know so much about. John knew nothing of love and grace. John had never extended mercy to those who needed it; encouraged unmitigated love to all, not just those who fit his flawless mold; or shown true spirituality to anyone, least of which his own family. Dean was more righteous of a man than his father could ever hope to be. If anyone was leading by example, it was the prodigal, not the preacher.

 

After dismissal, she slipped into the second row in front of the piano and awaited Mary’s announcement. Tessa sat in the front row, followed by some of the adult women. Pam Barnes scooted in beside Lisa while Mary greeted a few overly sympathetic members on her way to the front.

 

“That you, Lisa?” Pam asked brightly as she folded her walking cane. “I know that perfume anywhere.”

 

“Hey, girl,” she replied. “What’s up?”

 

“Ugh. Midterms. I’m so done with this semester. Doing anything fun for winter break?” 

 

Lisa appreciated the small talk. Maybe something general such as holiday plans were needed to break up the tension surrounding the morning service. “I think my uncle is going to be in town.”

 

Oblivious to just how the politics of Lisa’s family extended further than the state senate, she hummed and raised her brows above her dark sunglasses. “He better bring some epic gifts, while he’s at it.”

 

Although smiling, Lisa was groaning internally. If only. A man that powerful could hold anything over her head, including his spotless reputation in exchange for nothing. The first few stops along his campaign trail had been fun, but she quickly learned that fame came with a price. By election day, her role was clear: Attend private school and keep up an outward appearance above reproach. In order to go to the school he insisted on, she had to attend services. And in order to afford such an education, she had to resort to getting money however she could.

 

The payoff? Not being shipped off to a foster family. Her uncle deemed the exchange more than fair since Lisa’s mother was clearly unfit. It would take barely a squeak out of him for Lisa to end up in the system for the remainder of her days as a minor. She was so close to legal age, it seemed a small price to pay to live in the town she loved and around people she knew. She was almost there. Soon, she could start applying for jobs as an adult and be rid of her uncle’s clutch once and for all.

 

“What about you?” Lisa replied. “Any family coming in?”

 

“Nah,” Pam groaned with a scrunched up nose. “I’m going cross-country skiing with some friends.”

 

“Homeschoolers have friends?” Lisa teased.

 

Pam giggled. “Hard to believe, I know. I’m so unsocialized, can’t you tell?”

 

It was too bad Pam wasn’t around more. Lisa could use someone to cut loose with. Even if she never knew the dynamics of her secret life, she could get her mind off things for a while. Lisa and the rest of the women sat up a little straighter when Mary stood before them with hands crossed. Her face was softer than before, but no less purposed.

 

“I’m not speaking on behalf of my husband,” she prefaced. She spoke freely but pointedly, now that John and Sam were waiting in the car. “Dean is not at home right now, but he is not missing, either. He is perfectly fine, and there’s no need for alarm. There’s no need to go looking for him.”

 

The women listened attentively. Lisa relaxed against the pew, relieved that someone with influence was attempting to set the record straight. After a short smile, Mary continued.

 

“There is nothing wrong with my son. There is no need to lure him back to change him when no change is necessary. If this bothers you, just remember: we ought to show grace beyond our own understanding. You do not have to understand someone, you need only to be kind. So if you see him this week, show him love as we’ve been commanded, but do not join in this crusade to change him. The only demon in our midst is that of hate.”

 

Row after row of church ladies sat motionlessly. A closed-mouth smile crawled across Lisa’s cheek.

 

“Thank you for your time,” Mary concluded with a nod. The women all dismissed themselves, quiet for the most part. Each was too preoccupied with the contrast between her words and that of her husband to initiate conversation. Although short, her announcement was sensical and more biblically rooted than anything heard from the pulpit.

 

Lisa wanted to make her alignment known but didn’t want Mary’s extended absence to raise any suspicions. She left before Tessa could bother her with whatever overreaction she would undoubtedly dish out. Besides, she wanted to make sure Dean knew his mother was on his side.

 

**< < Your mom just made the most epic speech ever. She dragged your dad LOL**

 

Lisa started her mom’s dump of a car, frost gone from her morning commute but engine cold again. Dean texted back.

 

**> > She probably made it sound like a spoonful of sugar.**

 

**< < Omg, she totally did!**

 

**> > Can’t say I’m surprised. What’d she say?**

 

**< < That they need to leave you the hell alone and that you’re her widdle son and she wuvs u <3**

 

**> > Wuvs me, huh? At least she’s trying. Dad’s gonna flip his shit when he finds out, though.**

 

**< < I think she said it as gently as possible. Like, it was definitely a burn, but like, a slow roast, not a house fire**

 

Dean took a minute for his next response.

 

**> > Keep an eye on her, will ya? If anything looks weird, let me know**

 

**< < What do you mean by weird**

 

**> > idk**

 

Lisa rolled her eyes.

 

**< < Ok but like, are you talking about how your dad is gonna react to her speaking out behind his back?**

 

**> > Yes**

 

Understanding washed over her with a hint of dread. She deleted the beginning of several texts before deciding on the reply.

 

**< < If I see anything different I’ll let you know**

 

Lisa glanced down at the meters. The engine was running hot. Again. She got on the road before it could get any worse, hoping the ride home would even it out. Lisa could do many things — manage the household finances, get herself through school, play piano, fix anything that could break in a house — but car repair was not one of them. She kept one eye on the temperature gauge, grumbling every minute at a whopping thirty miles per hour as the needle inched closer to the red zone.

 

* * *

 

The call rang through to voicemail. Dean hung up and gave it a few minutes. He was ready to be with Castiel again, but an incubus’ work is long and tedious. The thought of Cas’ phone ringing in the middle of a late-night client session made him chuckle, and he decided to text instead. Cas had never texted, but he was a quick learner, and it gave him the option to wait until a better time to respond.

 

**< < Hey Cas, been thinking about you all day. Hope you can make it to the gym tonight. If not, it’s ok**

 

Dean slipped the phone back in his pocket, at peace with knowing he would likely be waiting a while. Bobby’s shop had odd hours on Sunday, giving Dean extra down time to spend as he pleased. Frigid air cut through his layers, and he ducked into an alley to avoid the biting cold wind blowing through the street. He was almost positive he saw a few snowflakes.

 

The alley was much calmer, but the shade did nothing to warm him. Rubbing his hands together, he blew into them and hunched down into a ball to conserve heat. He needed to get to Bobby’s store anyway, as he was scheduled to open in less than an hour. Once there, he would borrow the fossil of a desktop behind the counter to continue the research he started at the library. He wanted to surprise Cas with some good news tonight, so if he wanted to make progress, he had to do it between customers.

 

“Dean Winchester,” came a devious, liquid voice from further in the alley. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“Hey Gordon,” Dean replied, the strange tone throwing him off. “I was just on my way to work, but uh… geez, it’s cold out there, y’know?” He tried to lighten the mood with a clipped laugh. “How you been?”

 

“Can’t complain.” Gordon shrugged and leaned against the building opposite of Dean, hands in his coat. “Aren’t your folks in church right about now?”

 

“Haha, busted,” Dean deprecated lightly. He searched Gordon’s indecipherable expression. Not knowing what he was thinking unnerved him, and he couldn’t help the jittery bounce in his leg. “You uh, come here often?”

 

Gordon chuckled darkly. “You might say that. Can’t say the same for you, though. What are you doing out here?”

 

“I told you, I’m going —”

 

“To work, yeah I got it,” Gordon interrupted. “I mean what are you doing, here? You move out or something?”

 

“Uh, it’s uh… I’m… uh —”

 

“Come on, man. You can tell me. Is it your folks? They find out about the weed?”

 

“No, I mean yes,” Dean corrected, head spinning with red flags. Something about this whole situation was off. Gordon never gave him this vibe before. He needed to get out. “I’m uh, I’m fine.”

 

“Where do you work? I should come visit.”

 

“Oh uh, you know what — I’m not really at one specific place right now, I’m kinda doing odd jobs h-here and there… Ramblin’ man, that’s me…”

 

“I see,” Gordon said with a slow nod. “You wanna make some extra money? You could work for me.”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty,” Gordon defended, slumping onto Dean’s side of the alley and pulling a cigarette from his pocket. “If you’re out and about, all over town, you might as well help me out with supplying the demand around here. Dealing weed is a good place to start, for a newbie. Work your way up the ladder, you’ll be distributing kilos of heroin in a few months.”

 

“Okay, woah,” Dean stopped him. He coughed through the cloud of smoke Gordon blew into his face. “That’s not what I meant by odd jobs.”

 

“I don’t know what you meant,” Gordon replied with another casual shrug. “I just know you’re out here instead of on a sofa in front of a warm fire, eating Crock Pot roast beef. Something is up. I’m just trying to help.”

 

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Dean insisted. Gordon took another long pull. “You tell Frankie I said hi, okay?”

 

Gordon looked disappointed the conversation was ending, but he nodded and turned his attention to the smoke rising from his cig. “Will do, Winchester.”

 

Dean looked over his shoulder only once on the way to Bobby’s shop, at the intersection that divided the town into the north and south side. Nobody was following him. On the way to the shop, he passed a cafe and hid his face behind his jacket after peeping beyond the glass. Ketch was seated at a two-person window table and very intently studying a newspaper. Dean only had a split-second to take it in, but he was almost positive there were two cups at the table, and a man’s suit jacket laid across the chair opposite of Ketch. Dean smiled. Skipping invitation to go meet someone. Good for him.

 

He opened the store five minutes after one, but nobody was waiting at the door anyway. No one was in a hurry to shop at an auto parts store after the morning service. Everyone was busy with either normal-people lunch or after-church lunch; same food, different attitude. Sundays were funny like that.

 

As soon as he sat behind the register, his phone pinged with a text from an unknown number. Although he knew it was bound to happen, his heart still sank as he read the message. The word was out, and this paragraph was the first hate mail of the day. 

 

**> > Hello young man, this is one of the ladies from choir. I’m sure you don’t have my number so I won’t bother with disclosing my name. Just know that I am very disappointed in you and will be praying for your poor soul. It’s such a shame that young people today are falling by the wayside, you most of all! If the pastor’s own son has gone degenerate, there’s no telling who will be next! You have let us ALL down. Think about what you have done and REPENT. You’res truly, a concerned church member xx**

 

Dean guffawed at the grammar mistake. He let it roll off and deleted it right away, but not before taking a screenshot and sending it to Charlie.

 

**< < Check it, I got my first anon hate. LOL**

 

He could practically feel the laughter from Charlie’s reply.

 

**> > Omg what an ass, I just spat soda all over my phone!! Lmao. The Suburban White Mom energy is strong with this one**

 

His dismissive attitude was expelled with the arrival of several more texts. Where were all these people getting his number?

 

**> > What you’re doing is a sin against God**

 

**> > Please Dean, your dad just wants to talk. If you care about your family and reputation at all, you’ll come home. Ignoring this means you don’t love Jesus <3 Make sure he stays #1 in your life, sweet pea!**

 

**> > YOU MAKE ME PHYSICALY SICK!!! I CANT BELIEVE WHAT I HEARD AT THE PULPIT TODAY???!?! YOU’VE GONE GAY??? WHAT IN THE WORLD…??? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS. THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS NOT NORMAL. IT’S NOT NATURAL. GOD DID NOT DESIGN HUMAN BODIES LIKE THAT. SHAME ON YOU. YOU BETTER ANSWER ME. WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS AN ABOMINATION IN  THE SIGHT OF GOD !!!!! GOD HATES FAGS AND I HATE FAGS!! YOU’L GO TO HELL FOR THIS!**

 

**> > You won’t be able to hide forever, young man. The entire church is looking for you.**

 

Dean sucked in a breath when he realized he was growing lightheaded. Leaving all on read, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and looked out the shop window nervously. He was fucked. He was so incredibly, indisputably fucked.

 

In the back of his mind, he knew he was eventually going to get push-back from people he knew. He had tried to mentally prepare himself for it, readying himself to shrug it away, to laugh it off. It worked, a little. Until it set in that these weren’t just random strangers — these people knew him. They had changed his diapers in nursery, taught him Bible verses on Wednesday nights, and fed him cookies at Vacation Bible School. These people had faces that he knew all too well.

 

It would be a lie to say the harsh words didn’t hurt, but those paled in comparison to the threat of being found. Grammar errors aside, the possibility of someone behind those texts toting him to his father’s pulpit was very real. Any hope he held onto of life returning to normal died that day. 

 

He could not, under any circumstance, go back. Not when John was in the current state of mind to brainwash the whole church into hating him. What did that say about how his dad felt about his own son? Dean shuddered at the thought of how pliant the congregants must be under John’s forked tongue, to turn against the pastor’s son with such swiftness and sharp words.

 

Everything was falling apart. The people he spent his whole life trusting were now sworn enemies. All in the name of… what? Religion? A giant clique of people competing for Most Likely to Impress the Puritans? Misinterpreted words from a book written by mere men? Holiness? Hypocrisy? Dean didn’t even know anymore.

  
He squinted his eyes shut, willing away the slurs and berating from his mind’s eye. The words flashed before him like on a projector screen. He couldn’t stop his breath from quickening as he came to the realization, for the first time in his life, that he was hated. They always had, in an indirect way, but never had his face to put with the label until today. 

 

Forced to face the reality of his uncertain day ahead, he ran his hands over his face, resting his chin in his palms at the end. He let out a shaky exhale. And then he did something he had been avoiding for years. 

 

He prayed.

 

It was a silent prayer, jumbled up and disjointed, and probably not making it past the ceiling, but he needed to do it. He needed to feel like someone was listening. Whether or not anyone could hear him, or wanted to listen, didn’t matter at this moment. Right now, he needed it for his own peace of mind. He needed to believe that his voice mattered.

 

_ God? _ Dean thought. _ If there even is one. I don’t know anymore… fuck. _ He rubbed his eyes.  _ I’m in such deep shit right now. These jackasses all hate me.  _ He choked on a sob.  _ Fuck, fuck fuck… I don’t care what they think. I really don’t… I’m just really fucking scared. I’m… I’m scared. _

 

Prayer, meditation, spells… It’s all just talking to yourself, isn’t it?  _ I’m like, hiding in an auto shop, freaking the fuck out right now… _ Dean actually freaking steepled his hands. What was that supposed to do, anyway? Point the words up to heaven like a satellite dish?  _ What am I gonna do? Wave at the next church member who waltzes in like everything is fine? Like my dad didn’t just pass out my number to the entire fucking church and put a reward poster up with my face on it? _

 

He looked at his steepled hands. His palms were flush against each other, with all his fingers touching and pointing up. He curled his fingers against his palms, then intertwined them, knuckles locking against each other. It might look like he was holding his own hand, to an outsider. To him, it was a memory.

 

_ Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors, and see all the people. _

 

_ _

 

He smirked as he raised both index fingers into a point, then opened his palms to wiggle his fingers inside. It was such a silly poem, learned by church kids everywhere from a very early age. Right alongside the great standards like Psalm 23 and John 3:16.

 

_ Close the doors and hear them pray. Open the doors and they all walk away. _

 

If only it was that simple. Some verses certainly made it sound that way. What went wrong along the way? When did those whitewashed walls become a gated community of hermits that looked at the rest of the world with disgust? Who decided shutting yourself off from other humans was healthy? Who made the list of people to love or despise?

 

_ Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors… and it’s Saturday! _

 

Dean replaced his hands into a steeple but crossed his fingers on the outside of his hands. He opened his palms, now empty to reflect the punchline of the jingle. That, right there, an empty church… That was the future he wanted for the Winchester place of worship. Maybe that made him a horrible person.

 

Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was what the town needed. A troublemaker to rile things up. Someone with inside knowledge of church politics and the dynamic between townsfolk and clergy. Someone like him.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a new text. The sound made his stomach tighten. Holding his breath, he braced himself for another written assault. This number was saved on his phone. Pamela Barnes.

 

**> > Hey. Sorry I never never text, but just wanted to let you know that not everyone is after your hide. A lot of us are siding with your mom, including me. What your dad’s doing is messed up. You don’t deserve to live in fear, especially around the holidays, when you should be with your family. Sending thoughts and prayers. Call if you need anything.**

 

He was pleasantly surprised. Letting out the tension built up in his shoulders, Dean set the phone behind the cash register and re-evaluated his allies. Maybe he had a fighting chance. He wasn’t delusional. He knew right now, things were not okay. They probably wouldn’t be for a while. But maybe eventually, they would be.

 

He had Castiel. He had his mom, brother, boss, and a ragtag team of friends. And he had his own quick wit and resourcefulness. Maybe that was enough. 

 

_ God _ , he said in his mind. _ If you’re listening, just wanted to say that uh… I’m probably gonna fuck shit up at the church and I hope you’ll forgive me. I’d like to think you’d do the same thing if you were here, though. Kind of a ‘flip the tables in the temple’ kinda situation, ya know? _ Dean chuckled through his nose with a weak smile.  _ You know what? Fuck it. If you’d go ape shit at my dad’s church, then something is definitely wrong with the place. Dean, out. _

 

Whether or not it made a difference, it made Dean feel better, and that was good enough for him. It cleared his mind and aligned himself after all the turbulence of the revolting messages and anxiety inside his own head. Calm and grounded, Dean pushed through the swing door and fixed a mostly empty shelf of motor oil. The stuff had been on backorder for the past three weeks, so he arranged them in two rows and filled the empty space with drain pans.

 

He barely noticed the bell on the door ring, being so engrossed in the meager shelves. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat behind him that he was torn out of his concentration and immediately thrown into panic. He snapped around to see none other than Chuck Shurley.

 

“Oh uh, hi Brother Shurley,” Dean gulped, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.

 

“Hiya Dean,” the short, scruffy man pipped with a shy wave. 

 

Dean tried to focus, but his mind wandered to the various ways he could escape. The front door, the garage door, a displaced ceiling tile… He ran through every possibility, detailing his plans as he tightened his lips in a forced smile. Was an angry mob right behind him with clubs and torches? Did he have on a body cam that fed directly to Dad’s house? Was he going to chloroform his ass and drag him unconscious all the way to Pray the Gay Away Camp?

 

“I just needed to replace a lightbulb and um,” Chuck dug around in his pocket and gingerly held out out the tiny glass bulb. “I’m actually pretty useless with cars and have no idea what to do. I got this far though, ‘cause you know… YouTube tutorials are a lifesaver, so.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a bit proud of his progress but humbled in the presence of a mechanic. “Do you have this size? Or… model? Or whatever you call it. Haha…”

 

Chuck’s embarrassed laugh did nothing to ease Dean’s nerves. “It’s uh… it’s… uh…” He shot his thumb behind his back, motioning to the aisle behind him. “It’s right over… um.”

 

“Thanks,” Chuck interjected, scooting around Dean and taking in the expanse of tiny bulbs. “Aw geez, there’s a lot of these. Does this number at the bottom of the bulb mean anything?”

 

Remembering himself, Dean whipped around and snatched the light from Chuck to find the matching number on Bobby’s expansive wire grid. “Yep, it’s this one. You putting this on yourself?” Since Chuck hadn’t bothered bringing up the speech his father doubtlessly gave, Dean decided to avoid the topic as long as possible.

 

Still, though. As friendly as Chuck was, something else was behind that smile. Something he couldn’t quite place. Of course, the guy might just be awkward as hell and unable to control the bungling he spread. On the other hand, Dean could never be too careful. He was still wary of Chuck’s behavior after Lisa took Dean out of lunch to suck him off.

 

“Gonna try, at least. I found some videos online that look pretty straightforward.”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cut and dry,” Dean shrugged. He meant it to be a casual, nonchalant shrug, but as on-edge as he was, it came out a stiff, tinman shrug. “If you get stuck, you know who to call.” He swallowed thickly. He definitely did not mean to allude to the number being passed around like herpes.

 

“Oh thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he nodded kindly, apparently not catching onto the unintentional joke.

 

Dean fiddled with the cardboard edges of the light bulb packaging all the way to the cash register. When Chuck avoided eye contact, Dean let up with a sharp exhale.

 

“Okay man, I know my dad had something to say during chur—”

 

“It’s fine,” Chuck interrupted, eyes darting back up to meet Dean’s. “I’m not… I’m not gonna tell on you.”

 

Brows furrowed, Dean took the money Chuck handed him and totaled him out. “Why not?”

 

“I have my reasons,” Chuck assured him quietly. “Believe me — almost like, ninety percent of what you know about me is a lie. So when he said those things about you, the first thing that went through my mind was…” Dean raised his brows. “...Good.”

 

“G-good?”

 

It was Chuck’s turn to shrug. “Yeah… good.”

 

Dean bagged the light bulb, mistrustful but curious. “Shurley, you aren’t making a lick of sense.”

 

“You… being true to yourself and all that warm and fuzzy stuff… it’s… good. More people in our circle deserve to be happy.”

 

Dean blinked. What in the seven layers of shit was this guy talking about? And why be so damn cryptic? Warm and fuzzy, yeah right. He just had some crazy crochet-obsessed perm monster rage text him an eternal damnation, based solely on the fact that he liked it up the ass. He’d like to see the romance novels she hid under her cable-knit, pom pom-lined pillows. He’d bet money she committed “adultery of the heart” with the ripped, capable young lads in between those pages. He wondered what she used to shove up her lady hole, since seeking out sexual gratification apart from one’s spouse’s genitals was so frowned upon. 

 

To hell with all of them. If they were going to get picky, Dean might as well throw the damn book at them. Lying. Withholding tithe. Going over the speed limit. Disrespecting their elders. Wearing polyester and rayon blends. Where were they drawing the line, anyway? Where it was comfortable for them to measure up themselves but convenient to judge others of a different conviction? Double standards, much?

 

He didn’t have a single fuck left to give. Whether or not he could reconcile his faith to the gayness that God put there — the big man himself everyone was convinced hated him — was a moot point as it stood. Perhaps it would be easier to scrap it all and start over. Burn his Bible, wipe his mind of every verse he ever memorized, and go live in a cave somewhere. Cleanse. Find himself. Eat berries and bathe in a hot spring and all that shit.

 

Now he was starting to sound crazy.

 

“There are other people,” Chuck continued. “Others in our congregation… like you.”

 

Dean peered at the man across the counter. He could not, for the life of him, decipher the look Chuck was giving him. “What do you mean ‘other people’ like me?”

 

“It’s just… I’m just saying,” he backtracked clumsily. “It’s not really my place to trash talk your dad, but —”

 

“Please, humor me.”

 

“But, he’s wrong. Plain and simple. He’s misled, and guiding everyone in the wrong direction, and…” A wave of clarity washed over the man typically known to blunder his way through conversations. “This place needs a wake-up call, Dean. I know it sucks right now, but it’d be like poetic justice if you were the one to give it to us.”

 

The pep talk left Dean with more questions than answers and did little to spark battle cry-worthy bravery, but it eased his distrust of Chuck Shurley — for now. He handed over the small plastic bag and cleared his throat, composing himself after such a long run at being on edge.

 

“There would be a church split if I tried to talk sense into those people.”

 

“Yeah,” Chuck laughed. “It’d be wild, for sure. And I am so here for it.”

 

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was this really teacher’s aide, boy scout, chaperone Chuck Shurley? Perhaps it really was the quiet ones he needed to watch out for.

 

What kind of a madman rubs his hands together with glee fantasizing about a church split? Was he insane? That was the stuff of nightmares, to a man of the cloth. Then again, Dean was no longer welcome in his own home. So if it hurt his father…

 

Then it would also hurt his mother. He sighed. Contemplating the family economy was exhausting. What would happen to her? With a cut of his dad’s income would come the collapse of life as his family knew it. And if enough people rose up against him, would he go while his wife and son stayed? Mary hadn’t worked since before Dean was born. Sam was fifteen and shouldn’t be shouldering the burden of supporting himself and his mom. If John hauled them away with him, Dean would never see his family again.

 

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he reasoned. “But yeah, I agree, someone needs to shake things up.”

 

“You’ve already shaken things up,” Chuck quipped. “You’re the pastor’s kid. You’ve got more influence than you realize.”

 

“I get that Chuck, but come on,” Dean’s voice rose involuntarily. “I knock some sense into ‘em and then what? My dad hangs a restraining order in my face and takes off with my mom and brother? Some revolution! I’m ‘true to myself’ and lose everyone in my life.” Except Cas. But he wouldn’t want that for Dean, anyway. He would want Dean to have his family, too. “Sounds wonderful.”

 

“Oh um, I know it’s not that simple, really. I was just…” Chuck was back to clamoring for complete sentences. “I’m not saying you should be, like, reckless. And careless. You should think about it… Plan it… Really prepare yourself. And if you need help… I’ll help. As much as I can. I know it’s not much but —” He fidgeted with the bag between his fingers. “I can help.”

 

The last sentence sounded loaded, but Dean wasn’t in the mood for interpreting more Chuck Shurley enigmas. “Okay,” he replied simply to his customer’s firm nod as he turned on his heel to leave. The bell jingled on Chuck’s abrupt exit, and Dean was left to his thoughts once more, this time bordering on conspiracy-level suspicion.

 

He wasn’t making any sense. None of this was making any sense. It was official: The guy was going senile. These were the last cognitive thoughts of a crazy old man, and Dean happened to be around to hear them. 

 

Had Dean just been thinking about this to begin with? Yes. Did he want his father’s organization overthrown? Did the system need purging? Should the people be questioning everything they’ve ever been taught? Again, yes. Was it a good idea to barrel in like a bull in a china shop, without regard to how the breakage would affect the ones he actually gave a crap about?

 

He sunk into the swivel chair. Dean didn’t know anymore. And he was quickly getting tired of not knowing. Swiping the old mouse around the mousepad, he woke up the desktop to get online. He was done with not knowing at least one thing on his list. He needed to find that spell. If he had that, he held his future in his hands. At least he could have that. He might not know what the future held, but he knew who held the future.

 

Him. His fate was in his own hands. Clicking on the web browser icon, he cracked his knuckles and got to work.


	14. Operation: Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before Winter Break, but Mary, Sam, and Dean take advantage of John's day shift to do their own covert celebration. Dean is glad to catch up with his mom and brother in person, but has their season been as jolly as they're putting on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, everyone! Enjoy! <3 So, the previous chapter was... not pleasant. I'm aware that some of this is hitting super close to home (it is for me, too) and I need you to trust me on something: I'm going somewhere with all of this. I promise. Those of you who follow my writing know I never waste narrative, and that everything that goes around comes around, eventually. That's all I can say without spoiling anything :) I appreciate you sticking with the story, even when I go into such uncomfortable subject matter. It will pay off. You have my word.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- mentions of violence  
> \- actual violence  
> \- rape/non-con

Sunday night yielded no luck on the spell, but Dean got lucky in other ways. It was midnight at the gym when Cas blew in on a gust of air. His hair was untidy and smelled vaguely brackish, like he just fell out of a lightning storm. Their time together was short, but Cas sure could do a number on Dean in fifteen minutes.

 

Cas was balls deep when he confessed this visit was technically between jobs. It was so depraved to think Cas was just making his rounds and dropped by to sneak in a quickie on the way to his next victim. Dean came far sooner than he should’ve, knowing there was a long line of holes for Cas to fuck, but that his was the only one the incubus actually wanted.

 

Dean was left with a peck on the mouth and his own milky spend splattered across his chest. He giggled while lying on the gym mat. He must look so ridiculous, exhausted and debauched by his fuck-and-fly boyfriend. Sleep came easy that night.

 

Monday came and went without fanfare. It was nice to have a quiet day that brought little more excitement than texts to and from his friends. No further flying objects in the sanctuary, according to Benny. Lisa got a 100% on a pop quiz. Charlie binge-watched Lord of the Rings — the extended edition, of course.

 

Dean called his mom and told her he loved her. He told her to mail the package to Bobby’s shop. The bold streak in both of them decided he should visit the next day while his dad was working. Next, he talked to Sammy; he teased him about Jessica, badgered him about what he was getting his darling big brother for Christmas, and told him not to touch his stuff.

 

Winter break was a day away. Starting Wednesday, he had to be very careful around town. Bobby’s store wasn’t exactly a one-stop Christmas shop, but with school out, his chances of being spotted multiplied exponentially. Since he figured he wouldn’t be home for Christmas, he grabbed something to give his mom and Sam before dropping by on Tuesday.

 

“Dean, my sweet boy,” Mary said in his arms. She wasted no time enveloping him in her love as soon as he crossed that threshold. He didn’t even get the chance to close the door after himself. “I missed you so much.”

 

“Miss you too, Mom,” Dean choked, a sob shoving its way up his throat. Sam clunked down the stairs and beamed. Dean was glad to have something to distract him from breaking down in tears. “Hey loser.”

 

“You’re so lame,” he retorted as Dean broke his mom’s hug to embrace his little brother. He could’ve sworn the kid grew an inch since he last saw him, which hurt more than it should have.

 

“I sure am. Check it out.” Dean pushed down any last semblance of emotion as he dug into his pocket. “I wanted to get you guys something for Christmas, but it had to be small, so Dad wouldn’t notice. Here,” he said as he handed Sam an envelope and Mary a small box.

 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that,” his mom said. “You should be saving your money.”

 

“I am,” he insisted. “I’m working like, nonstop. The less you guys know, the better, but the bottom line is, I’m fine.” He gave a convincing smile as the two opened their gifts.

 

“Sweet, an app store gift card!” Sam exclaimed. “You’re right, he won’t suspect a thing. Thanks, Dean.”

 

“Don’t spend it all on that stupid game you like.”

 

“Bite me! It’s my gift card, now.”

 

“Boys,” Mary chided before opening the box. She let out a barely audible gasp. “Dean, this is beautiful.”

 

“You like it?” he asked optimistically. She lifted the long necklace, two small gemstones dangling at the bottom. “They’re mine and Sammy’s birthstones. It’s long enough so you can hide it if you need to. Dad doesn’t pay attention to jewelry, anyway.”

 

Dean hated to be one to perpetuate stereotypes, but this one was true. Her engagement ring was the exception, of course, and apparently, the story of how nervous he was presenting it to her was as cute as could be. Besides that, however, John preferred to spoil her with more practical things.

 

She draped the thin chain around her neck, not bothering with the clasp, as it was plenty long enough to manage without. She didn’t wear much jewelry, besides her wedding set, so any extra sparkle made her look like royalty. “It’s perfect, Dean. I love it.”

 

“Your turn,” Sam piped up as he took off into the living room. Dean and Mary joined him, as no one else was taking the initiative to move out of the hallway. He couldn’t help but notice the drywall John threw him against was patched over. As much as Dean liked the idea of sitting on his own couch, the driveway being out of sight caused his stomach to knot with unease. Still, it was a school day, and the possibility of John coming home early was slim to none.

 

Dean was surprised to see presents addressed to him under the tree. Fully expecting his gifts — if any — to be contraband goods from a forgotten corner of the coat closet, he gave a puzzled look as Sam plopped a large flat box into his lap.

 

Mary sensed his confusion and clarified, “Your dad and I already had this picked out for you, from before… um, before…”

 

“Before,” Dean echoed understandingly. He picked at the tape for a moment before tearing into the paper, enjoying the nostalgic sound of wrap being shredded and crunched. 

 

He pretended not to notice the number of presents from Mom and Dad to Sam. Their parents were always good about each of them opening the same number of presents, and spending the same amount on each child. The halt in gifts set aside for Dean told the unspoken story of just how completely his dad stopped considering him a son. His mom probably sneaked Dean’s things under the tree before he arrived.

 

But right now wasn’t the time to overanalyze, so he bit his lip to keep his melancholy from spreading across his face. Now, he was home. Now, they were celebrating Christmas, even if it was early. He lifted the box lid to find a green canvas jacket, ideal for walking to and from work. Standing up, he tried it on right away, excited to find it warm and a perfect fit. He hurried to the hallway mirror and put his hands in his pockets as he looked at himself.

 

“Awesome,” he beamed.

 

“Oh good, it fits” Mary sighed. “You’re outgrowing everything these days.”

 

“Fits like a freaking glove,” he attested as he swayed in front of the mirror to see as much as he could.

 

“This one, too,” Sam said from the living room, waving a smaller box.

 

“I sneaked around your father on that one,” Mary smirked as she pointed at the gift. A certain defiant sparkle flashed in her eyes. “I had a feeling you might need them, now that it’s freezing all the time.”

 

Dean took the box and shook it a little; it was full but quiet. He tore into it to find a pair of thermal gloves with heavy-duty grips. If he wasn’t outside as much as he was, he might not have appreciated them as much, but in his current state, he couldn’t think of a better addition to his wardrobe.

 

“Thanks, Mom,” he said after wiggling his fingers into one of them. “What Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him. How’d you swing that, anyway?”

 

Mary pursed her lips into a mischievous smile and tapped the side of her nose. “PayPal balance.”

 

Dean laughed and filled his new jacket with one glove per pocket. As much as he wanted to relax in his own home, he needed to be ready to book it at any given moment. The preparatory motion wasn’t lost on Mary, who nodded to Sam before leaning back in the recliner. He took off to his room while Mary and Dean remained downstairs.

 

“How is work?”

 

Dean laid against a pillow, hoping his mom would forgive his shoes all over her furniture. “It’s good. I’m getting plenty of hours.”  _ You know, since I dropped out of school running away from home in fear for my life. _ “I see people we know from time to time.” He debated bringing it up at all, but his mom would want to know.

 

“Like who?”

 

“Meg, Chuck… Dad.”

 

Mary’s smile fell. “He went looking for you?”

 

“Yes, and it was a close call.”

 

“He never told me that.”

 

“He hasn’t told you a lot of stuff.”

 

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

 

Dean cocked his head. The subject of poltergeist activity within church walls was on the tip of his tongue, but he could think of topics more relevant to their covert operation of doing Christmas behind his dad’s back. Sam interrupted his reply when he came down the stairs with a small, flimsy plastic bag.

 

“Stellar wrapping job, Sam,” Dean teased before digging into the bag. What started as a smirk became a hesitantly raised brow as he felt two flat metallic shapes.

 

“I told him not to do this,” Mary murmured with a sharp exhale. “It’s risky.”

 

“Sounds like my style.”

 

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you should have them back,” Sam explained as Dean pulled out two keys. “You should be able to come back here. Not all the time, but… sometimes. When we’re away.”

 

Dean examined the keys in his hand. One was to the front door; he could tell because he got the key made himself after his dad installed it years ago. The other one was so familiar, he sat up with a start at the realization...

 

“Sammy?”

 

“I know, I know. It’s crazy, right?”

 

“If Dad finds out I have this —”

 

“You’re not an idiot, Dean. I know you’ll smuggle it away when he’s not around. Sunday mornings, we’re always using that awful mom van.”

 

“Hey! I like that van,” Mary defended.

 

Dean squeezed the key to the Chevy Impala. He squeezed until it hurt. It was really here, in the palm of his hand. His baby. 

 

“Sam, this is… This is…”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“...dangerous.”

 

Too many variables prevented this plan from being safe. Dean loved it that Sam wanted him to have the opportunity to feel as at home as possible, but the chances of something going wrong were considerably higher with keys to places his dad frequented. Regardless, Dean could almost feel the wind on his face just imagining sitting behind the wheel of that car again. And the thought of inviting himself in to take one of his mom’s muffins sounded like the best thing ever.

 

“You could be seen,” Mary agreed with her oldest son. “Not just by your dad, but anyone, really. Some families we know live within a few blocks from us, and I don’t know how many of them have sided with your father. I tried to sway the women, but I’m not sure it did anything.”

 

Dean gave a disapproving grunt at his mom’s lack of confidence in herself. She had arguably more influence on the congregation than his dad and sold herself short at every turn. Despite the way she held the masses in the palm of her hand, she remained underestimated — by herself, as well as others. But not by Dean. 

 

“Mom, if you told ‘em to jump, they’d ask you how high. ‘Sides, not everyone Dad gave my number to sent me death threats. Some of them are actually kinda nice.”

 

Mary groaned and rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe he did that. And death threats? Seriously?”

 

“Well, I’m going to hell, apparently,” Dean puffed a mirthless laugh.  “Does that count?”

 

“I’m going to have another word with the ladies,” Mary said stiffly.  “Did you recognize any of the numbers?”

 

“Not most of them. Geez, how messed up is it that people ignore you until you do something they don’t like, and then all of a sudden you’re the most interesting person in the world?”

 

Mary cocked her head sadly. “I’m sorry, honey. What’s happening isn’t fair.”

 

“Believe me, it stopped being fair a long time ago.”

 

His mom thought about that for a moment. She nodded her head. “You’re right. Your dad has been preaching an unhealthy message about anyone who isn’t following the path he’s convinced is the only right one. I’ve never agreed with every little thing he’s stood for. No couple does, or so I’ve been taught, so I just quietly disagreed and moved on. But that was wrong of me, too. I haven’t done right by you, Dean, and I’m sorry.”

 

“Mom, wait. You don’t have’ta—”

 

“Will you forgive me?”

 

“What for? You haven’t done anyth—”

 

Dean couldn’t finish before his mom had him in her arms. He sat up and hugged her back, words lost in the swarm of emotions that surprised him. His eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. Dammit. He was doing so well.

 

“I will no longer sit by passively while your father spreads hatred,” she declared as she sat beside him on the couch. “I never agreed with what he says about the gay community, but when you told me you like boys, it got personal. And then it hit me… It shouldn't have taken me having a bisexual child for me to take a stand. I should’ve been doing that all along.”

 

“Mom, listen to me. You weren’t passively sitting on your ahhh—” He cleared his throat. “— rear end. I know how things work around here. I know you feel stuck. Women aren’t allowed to have a single independent thought in that place. It’s not that you didn’t believe differently than him; it’s that you couldn’t do anything about it. I’m not faulting you for that. There’s nothing to forgive when you don’t even have the luxury of free will!”

 

His mom took it all in, listening intently and nodding at the end. She was still so angry at herself, Dean could tell by just looking at her. But his words gave her some comfort. Nothing can ease the pain of a parent who believes they’ve failed their child, even in such a controlled environment. No matter what, she would always find a way to blame herself.

 

Sam spoke up from leaning on the living room door frame. “I think what Mom’s trying to say is, she’s now actively in opposition to Dad’s homophobic bull crap.”

 

Dean’s eyes opened a bit wider. “Look, I appreciate your support, but you don’t have to do that right now. It’s not safe.”

 

“My son has been excommunicated, used as an example, and is being hunted down like a wild animal,” Mary retorted. “Your safety was put in jeopardy the second your dad found you with a boy. You think I’m concerned about my own?”

 

“I’m concerned for your own,” Dean fought, sitting up a little straighter. “Once Dad finds out you’re undoing his work behind his back, he’s going to go nuts. There’s no telling what he’ll do and if I’m not around to stop him — ”

 

“I’m around,” Sam interjected. “I’ll stop him. I can take care of Mom.”

 

“He snapped on me just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Dean thought back to the marijuana-riddled night he got his ass handed to him, with multiple bruises to show for it, and a pissed-off incubus in tow. “Imagine outright defying him and being in the way when he catches wind of it. His perfect church, his precious reputation… Those things matter more to him than a functional family unit. He will sacrifice anything for the sake of a spotless outward appearance. And he’ll preach whatever he needs to in order to justify it.”

 

“We get it,” Sam assured him. “We know the risks. But we also know we can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

 

Dean let out a loud huff. “Fine, just… be careful, alright? It’s not like I can take you in if you two need to run for the hills.” It was useless trying to keep Sam from doing what he put his mind to. The kid was so damn pigheaded, it was ridiculous. Where the hell had he learned that?

 

“We’ll be careful,” Mary comforted. “Don’t you worry about us.”

 

Although Dean wanted to list all the ways that simply was not possible, Sam changed the subject. Dean was equal parts irritated and grateful he had something else to talk about.

 

“So, you never told us about that guy Dad caught you with.”

 

Dean dragged a glare back up to Sam, daggers for eyes piercing into his soul. Sam simply laughed it off, biting his lip in anticipation for the juicy story.

 

“Are you kidding me? What are you, twelve?”

 

“Oh, come on,” Sam egged on. “Mom wants to know, too. Right, Mom?”

 

Dean laid a helpless glance at his dear mother. “Not you, too!”

 

Mary shrugged teasingly. “I try not to entertain drama, truthfully. But in the matters of my household, well…” She and Sam shared an inquisitive look. “I think it’s only fair I know more about who my boy is seeing.”

 

“Really? You’re pulling rank on me?”

 

Mary peered at him. “Is it working?”

 

Dean lost the staring contest. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact while he gathered what information he could share without disclosing that his boyfriend was a demon from the depths of hell. “His name is Cas.”

 

Sam plopped onto the opposite end of the couch from Dean, with their mom in the middle. It felt like a damn sleepover. All they needed was some nail polish and a chick flick. 

 

“Cas,” Sam repeated, getting used to the sound of the name. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it, but he didn’t appear to recognize it. Maybe Cas wasn’t such an odd name, after all. “Does Cas have some sort of transporter, like in Star Trek?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Dad said he fell behind your bed, and when he went to go find him, he was gone.”

 

“Oh, that. He’s just uh, really fast. And quiet. I actually didn’t see him leave, myself.” That last part was true, at least. Dean was quickly realizing the most believable lies were rooted in an element of truth. Maybe someday his family would know the whole story. Today was not that day.

 

“What’s he like?” Sam prodded.

 

Dean gave a small smile. “He’s got, uh…” Dammit, was he really about to blush just talking about the guy? “He’s got these big blue eyes.” His mind immediately went to the split seconds when dark sapphire cut through all the electric blue. He loved that deep, oceanic color.

 

“Aww!” 

 

“Shut up, idiot,” Dean snapped as he chucked a pillow across the couch and into Sam’s face.

 

“Dad said he was dressed up weird.”

 

“Sam, we don’t need to ask about that,” their mom admonished. 

 

Dean’s neck reddened when he vaguely remembered the exchange between him and his dad in those last few seconds as a resident of the Winchester home. If he repeated the same thing to Mary and Sam, they were probably under the impression Cas was a hardcore leather daddy with a dragon play kink. 

 

“It’s okay,” Dean cut in. “He doesn’t dress weird. Dad was probably hallucinating.”

 

Sam shrugged it off, at least content enough to let the subject go. It was a good thing, too, because if he kept asking about Cas’ appearance, he might start remembering that night at the beginning of the school year, locked up in the auditorium with an Ouija board. The entire male half of the youth group laid eyes on the incubus Dean took off with, although no one spoke a word of it since then. It was a massive, unanimous, unspoken agreement that the Ouija board thing never happened, and Dean was never a sexual offering.

 

But he knew Sam. He had a photographic memory and was as clever as they came. If Dean started giving details, Sam would put the pieces together. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for his little brother to know that the demon who whisked him off to fuck him was now his one true love.

 

He also wasn’t ready for his family’s reaction to how crazy that sounded. Although itching to show Cas off, the typical human reaction to anything different was not lost on him. 

 

So he smiled, and left it at that, and awaited their next question without volunteering any extra information. Neither of them had any clue what Cas looked like, so really, Dean could make whatever crap up he pleased, but something inside kept him from veering too far off from the truth. Maybe it was stupidity, but he wanted to believe it was pride. He was happy to be with Cas, and he wanted to tell his family about him, and show him off, even if not physically.

 

“Does he have a job?” came the inevitable question from his mom.

 

Dean choked on several words before he settled on an answer. It was a little early to blurt out “forced demon prostitute.” He was not ashamed of Cas or his work — not by a long shot — but a direct answer would garner more questions than answers, and their time was short.

 

“He’s uh, he works with uh… He does, umm… Service work?” His face scrunched up in confusion at his own declarative-interrogative hybrid sentence. “It’s actually kind of a secret. I can’t talk much about it.”

 

Sam perked up. “Does he work for the CIA or something?” 

 

“No, but it’s like, top secret. It’s way up there.” Dean bent his hand at the wrist and held it above his head to demonstrate just how high up the secretiveness was, playing to his brother’s interest in the secret part and not the service part.

 

Enamored by how secret the work must be for Dean’s hand to be that high, Sam nodded in awe. “That’s so cool. Your boyfriend is like, a spy or something.”

 

“Or something,” Dean recapped with raised brows. 

 

“Well, you tell him your mother said that if he hurts you — ”

 

“Then you’ll kill him. Yeah, I get it, Mom. Thanks.”

 

“I mean it,” she said sternly. “I’m happy for you, and I support you, but nobody’s good enough for my son.”

 

“He is,” Dean said without missing a beat. He looked deadpan in her eyes as he spoke. She needed to know that he meant it. “He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

 

“If you say so,” Mary replied with a hum that wasn’t quite convinced but trusted that Dean himself believed it. “I have to be protective of my children and give their significant others a hard time. It’s in the rules.”

 

A slight pang glinted inside Dean when he recalled it was traditionally the father who threatened dates with their lives and sent them running in fear. It wasn’t the reversal of gender roles that hurt, as he could care less for such things. It was that his dad was no longer a positive in his life. Not at all. It was because his mother was taking up the slack, not borne out of his father’s absence, but of his father’s neglect.

 

John Winchester chose to disown Dean. He chose to hunt him down to send him away to strangers who would attempt to force him into a mold he didn’t belong in. He chose to excommunicate him until he became the guileless adult he had envisioned since his birth. He chose to be angry when Dean started turning out differently than he wanted, and he chose to stay angry when those things were part of who he was, not a product of decisions he made.

 

It was no wonder Mary and Sam took their place in the rebellion. Yes, they were doing it for Dean, that much was obvious. But also, they were doing it as a gigantic “fuck you” to John and his groundless ideals. They were prepared to meet his ascendancy with equal measures of insubordination, beginning with his mom giving the “he better treat you right or else” speech.

 

The prospect of the rest of his family coming under fire added yet another layer of fear over Dean’s life. However, having active participants in the fight for his life brought distinct empowerment in a way the impersonal “if you need anything, let me know” cliche never could. The presence of a support system was a strange and wonderful feeling. Maybe this is what it felt like to have allies. 

 

“When are you bringing him over?” asked Sam. “To actually meet us, not just to screw in your room.”

 

Their mom shot a look at Sam and pursed her lips in censure. The talk about having boys in his room would’ve happened naturally if Sam hadn’t opened his big mouth. And if Dean had the freedom to sleep in his own house. And if his mother had any actual grounds to forbid it, since he was technically an adult by nearly a year. The only ace she still had up her sleeve was her influence, which he begged the stars above she wouldn’t use. 

 

One look from her was all it would take. Throughout his life, discipline tended to get messier coming from his dad, since he was just that hard headed. But all his mom had to do was give him a genuinely disappointed look in the eyes, and he would break without a single touch. To Dean, knowing he made his mom feel that way was punishment enough. 

 

Tension filled the air as Dean awaited the verdict. Strong as he was against the judgment of all else, he was putty in her hands. Although a word from her wouldn’t necessarily stop him from seeing Cas, he would think of her disapproval during every moment together. She truly was the only one with any influence left on him.

 

“You’re grown up, Dean. You can make your own decisions,” she acknowledged, much to his relief. “All I ask is that you be careful. That goes for anyone you date, not just Cas.”

 

Dean knew what she meant, but it was a little different getting dicked down by the creature Castiel was. How messy it would be if incubi could contract diseases. Even so, he gave his mom the reassurance she needed that he was being responsible.

 

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m handling it. And as for meeting him,” he interjected as he turned to Sam, “you will someday. I promise.” 

 

It was a promise not only to them but to himself that he would complete his and Cas’ soulbond. He would find that spell, do some magick, and bring him home to meet the family. He could think of no better ending to the search than showing him off to the people in his life. Cas would have a mortal soul. Dean would have an eternity with his soulmate to look forward to. His mom and Sam would be… Well, he wasn’t sure where they’d be at that point, but if he could make sure they were together in the end, he would call it a win.

 

Sam tossed an envelope in Dean’s lap. “I got you something else.” When Dean gave Sam a confused look, he laughed. “You didn’t think I just gave you your own keys back for Christmas, did you? That would have been sucky.” When Dean stuck his thumb under the back flap, Sam barked, “Wait! Don’t open it yet.”

 

“It’s a freakin’ Christmas present, Sam. When am I supposed to open it?”

 

“Just, not yet.” He held up his palms as in defense. “You’ll know when.”

 

Dean blinked. “Mom, is this making any sense to you?”

 

“I actually don’t know what he’s giving you. I thought the keys were going to be it.”

 

“Keep it with you all the time,” Sam explained. “And if you’re ever in a situation where you’re at the end of your rope, and you really need help, open it. And use it. I’ve got it taken care of.”

 

An eyebrow shot up. “You know how crazy that sounds, right? What is this, Mary Poppins’ bag?”

 

Sam smiled awkwardly. “Something like that. Just… trust me.”

 

“Whatever, dude.” Dean folded the envelope and shoved it into his back pocket. “By the way, thanks for getting me my phone back. How’d you swing that, anyway?”

 

“It wasn’t easy.” Sam’s subsequent huff of laughter sounded all wrong. Dean grew uneasy as his little brother filled in the missing pieces. “After you left, I went to Jessica’s house and built a hollow device that has the face of your phone.”

 

“The chick you’re sweet on has pieces of cell phones just… lying around?”

 

Sam’s eyes widened and he glared at Dean in disdain. Their mom looked from boy to boy in shock. Dean bit his lip in realization. 

 

“Thanks a lot, Dean,” Sam spat at the flawlessly smooth way his brother outed him.

 

“So she’s the girl you like,” Mary droned with a smirk. “I knew something was up with you. I just didn’t know who it was making you so happy.”

 

“We’re not… We were just… We’re not doing anyth—” Letting out a short exhale, Sam backtracked. “Yes, she has pieces of phones — among other machine parts — everywhere. She’s a genius. She wants to be an engineer.”

 

Dean was a little embarrassed to continue the conversation after accidentally telling their mom about Sam’s girlfriend, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy vibe Sam was giving off. “And Dad hasn’t questioned the look-alike phone? Not even once?”

 

The two sitting with him on the couch fell deathly silent. It was only for a moment, but Dean picked up on it immediately. The wheels in his head started turning, and it threw him into a spiral of worry.

 

“Sam, tell me. Did Dad figure out it was a fake?” When Sam bit the inside of his cheek and looked down, Dean jumped off the couch to shake his shoulders. “You better start talking to me. He found out, didn’t he? He tried to light up the screen and when it didn’t do anything, he started messing with it and figured out it was just a shell. Isn’t that right?”

 

Sam met his gaze, but without the right-as-rain mask. “Don’t worry about it,” he advised quietly.

 

“Like hell,” Dean growled. “What did he do?” Dean let go of Sam’s shoulders when he noticed him wincing. When Sam rolled one shoulder painfully away from his reach, Dean grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked it up. Finger-shaped bruises. All over his upper arm and shoulder.

 

The first reaction was denial. There was no way he was seeing what he initially thought. It could be from roughhousing with the boys at school. It could be from falling down the stairs. But Dean knew better. Clarity washed over him as he accepted the reality of what he had seen.

 

The worst kind of guilt set deep within his gut as he let go of his brother’s clothes. He was gone; he up and left the people who needed him, and this is what happened. All Dean saw when he looked at the purple and blue marks on Sam’s arm were bruises that should’ve been on him. He was supposed to stand in that gap. Take the swings when John let the darkness win. 

 

Then came the anger. His fists clenched as he envisioned the actions that brought about those marks. John’s iron grip; the strength he acquired in the military, sworn solely to be used to protect his country, only to be used against a child half his size; his tight squeeze; the pinching pain Sam endured being dragged around like a dog’s chew toy. Dean snapped and overturned the coffee table, sending a garden magazine and empty plastic cup toppling over.

 

“Sammy,” he whispered, looking over at his brother, who was gingerly holding onto his arm. Rage surged through him. He dragged his fingers through his hair, nails digging into his scalp until it hurt. He needed it to hurt. After imagining what Sam went through to acquire those marks, feeling pain was a necessity, like it would bring balance back to the universe.

 

“We didn’t want to have to tell you,” Sam said with a weak smile. “We wanted today to be happy.”

 

“What about Mom?” Dean prodded, turning to her after he asked. She had been so quiet the past few minutes. “Mom? Has he hurt you, too?”

 

“No,” she replied in a hushed tone. “I tried to stop him when he came after Sam, but…”

 

“But I promised you I’d take care of her, and I am,” Sam finished. “And I’m going to keep on doing it, no matter what. She’s going to be okay, Dean. I’m making sure of it.”

 

Dean sighed regretfully. None of this should be happening. His teenage brother should not have to stand as a shield for their mom against her own husband. If that was anyone’s job, it should be his. But he couldn’t even do that, because said dad was scouring the earth for him so he could be electrocuted into straightness. The more he thought about it, the worse it sounded. And standing idly by wouldn’t make it any better.

 

“You guys gotta get outta this house,” he said, eyes darting across the ceiling as he thought about the source of John’s bold bursts of violence. He knew he wouldn’t see the demon of oppression without his anger-prone plaything within vicinity, but it wouldn’t stop him from looking, anyway. No swirling black smoke meant no John Winchester, so he took the glass as half full and moved onto his next order of business: getting them out of his reach. “You two shouldn’t be around him. He’s dangerous.”

 

“You know why we can’t do that,” Mary gave the inevitable reply. “Families splitting up is highly frowned upon at our ch—”

 

“Screw the church!” Dean screamed, giving his mom a jump scare. He felt bad for frightening her, but he was angrier than he’d been in a long, long time. “That place is poison, Mom. It’s controlling you. Don’t you see?”

 

Her nod insinuated an affirmative, but there was only so much she could see while in the thick of it. In the last few years, Dean had experienced an “awakening” and began to realize that the indoctrination he was being spoon-fed was messed up. Being removed from the environment for less than a week, Dean had only begun to realize just how messed up it truly was. But Mary couldn’t see the forest through the trees, and he couldn’t be mad at her for that. Not when he had been through the exact same thing.

 

“I get that it’s complicated,” he continued. “I get that a bunch of people are looking to you for marriage guidance and that your credibility will be tarnished if your marriage is in shambles. But you can’t look at it that way.” When Mary cocked her head in equal parts interest and confusion, Dean went on. “People are also looking to you for guidance on what to do if things just aren’t working out. Right now, Mom, all this stuff with Dad… it’s not working out. He’s bad for you. And they need to see an example of — not ‘abandoning your husband’, but — getting yourself out of a bad situation.”

 

Comprehending the concept, Sam nodded. “Mom, I think he’s right. Staying together isn’t always the best thing. I think people like Dad might be using scriptures against divorce for the purpose of controlling people.”

 

Mary cringed at the word “divorce”, but before Dean could amend the statement, a familiar rumbling sound eased into earshot. Sam and Mary shot up, and Dean backed into the doorframe. He stared at the front door, frozen in fear.

 

“What is he doing here?” Dean asked in disgust. “He’s never home this early.”

 

“Go,” his mom urged. “Leave out the back door.”

 

Dean peeled himself off the doorframe and careened around the corner as his dad cut the engine. He had mere seconds to escape before his dad took the few short steps from car to front door. He poked his head back around to see his mom and Sam closeby.

 

“Call me later,” Dean said. So many things at the forefront of his mind begged to be discussed, but with John mere feet away, their time was cut short and safety put at risk yet again.

 

“We will,” Mary ensured. 

 

“Get out of here,” Sam said as he pushed Dean further away. “We’ll be okay. Just go.”

 

Dean grumbled as he slipped outside, quietly closing the door after him. He ducked when he saw his dad’s shadow loom into the kitchen, making his way around the perimeter of the house while crouched down low. He rummaged through his pockets for his new gloves, which he slipped on before peeking around the front of the house to make sure the front door was shut.

 

It was still open. Annoyed, he let out a short sigh with the knowledge that he would have to cut through the neighborhood woods so no one in the house would see him walking the street. He stopped planning his escape when a shadow from the living room shifted. 

 

“No,” he breathed, willing it away with every bit of his soul. The darkness continued to move in time with John’s motions in the living room. Dean could see very little from his hiding place around the corner, but he could make out familiar movements like shrugging his coat off and reaching for the TV remote. He was also speaking. His tone was calm now, but it didn’t fool Dean. With one touch of the demonic influence, he would turn from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.

 

“Cas,” he prayed under his breath. He squinted his eyes shut, hoping it would somehow strengthen the connection. “Cas, you need to come here, now. I’m outside my parents’ house. Please Cas, I need you right now.”

 

Dean wasn’t even sure Cas could hear him. Were the beginning stages of soulbond helping or hurting telepathic messages? If it made him more human, it would prevent Cas from hearing Dean; if it made the bond stronger, it would help his cause. Covering all his bases, Dean sent a quick text telling him the same thing he just prayed. He chewed on his lip as he glanced inside, the shadow lurking above inching closer to the oblivious man below.

 

“Dean.”

 

The deep voice was like balm to his troubled soul, and Dean sighed as he reached behind him without tearing his eyes away from the sight inside. He grasped onto Cas’ hands after a couple of failed attempts.

 

“Cas, he’s about to jump my dad again,” he said with a trembling voice. His grip on the demon was tight, but Cas was so solid, it felt like he could’ve squeezed him twice as hard without causing discomfort. “That asshat Jarvis, or whatever his name is —”

 

“Jervis,” Cas corrected.

 

“He’s in there now. I can see him. Please, Cas, you’ve gotta stop him. I can’t let him hurt my family. Help me, Cas, please!”

 

Dean wasn’t sure at what point he turned to face Cas, but here he was, clinging to him while sharp breaths of air puffed onto his shoulder with every plea. All of Dean’s weight was on Cas, but the creature was much, much stronger than him and had no trouble keeping him stable. Dean’s begging trailed off into sobs as he buried his face in the crook of Cas’ neck.

 

“I have to hurry,” the demon stated. “Will you wait for me out here?”

 

“Yes,” he blurted, nodding wildly. “I’m not going anywhere. Just… make it quick.”

 

As soon as the words left Dean’s mouth, Cas took flight and soared effortlessly into the house. One plus side to being not of the human world was being able to travel through walls. The laws of physics only held jurisdiction to physical creatures, which made travel quick and easy. Rules regarding portals complicated matters, of course. Demons weren’t unstoppable.

 

It was that sort of thinking, of course, that would be Jervis’ downfall. He was cocky in his acquisition of the Winchester house, and despite multiple offers, appeals, and threats, he held fast to it. Although relentless in his mission to release the Winchesters from his hold, Cas had yet to give into bodily violence. 

 

That was about to change.

 

His wrath ignited the day he found Dean in the church bathroom covered in bruises. Cas could smell their freshness; they were broad and deep, and spread across his entire body. They were the markings of a man who sought to cause immense pain. That night, Castiel stormed off to give the oppressor a piece of his mind, punctuated by bared fangs and threatening hisses. Jervis reacted in fear, as he should have, and offered to leave upon receipt of a portal of the same caliber.

 

Cas was quick to agree with the arrangement. But after presenting him with a chateau full of revival counselors, Jervis turned his nose up, saying none of them had the spiritual pedigree of the Winchester boy. Angered at having his precious time wasted, Cas spent days trying to appease the demon’s demands, each time somehow turning up short. In the end, Jervis simply took the extra portals, deal be damned. It was a chance Cas took, knowing the Order of Lilith gave little regard to such cross-class drama, and he turned up empty each time.

 

But this… Dean crying out to him, begging, pleading on behalf of his family… Cas would stand for Jervis’ hand of oppression no more. This human — the human with which he was slowly becoming one, the one he regarded above all else —  _ his  _ human, needed his help. And nothing else Cas did to sway Jervis’ resolve was working, so he was forced to resort to this.

 

Violence.

 

It was frowned upon in his order, if for nothing else, the amount of time wasted he could be working instead. It was petty and disorderly and labor-intensive… All things diametrically opposed to the incubus way. A demon of his order was to be swift, tidy, and precise — exactly what was needed for an in-and-out midnight fuck. The urgency with which Cas plunged himself into the Winchester portal paralleled the hauteur Jervis dared exemplify, thinking himself to be untouchable.

 

Cas beat his wings against the swirling black air, finding the oppressor turning his finger in a circle to keep the cloud moving. It hung directly over John’s head, moving as he did, and slowly sank downward as the man left for the kitchen. The two demons loomed above, exposed from the lack of cover the cloud afforded, but alone to settle their quarrel without fear of being seen or heard by Mary or Sam.

 

“Jervis,” Cas hissed, baring his fangs and flashing his eyes a blinding hue of hot blue. “You have tried my patience for the last time.”

 

“What are you gonna do about it, hot shot?” the other demon taunted, pausing his black cloud. “Your kind is known for fighting as well as fish are for climbing trees.”

 

“You will not descend your darkness upon him any longer. I will not allow it.”

 

“Yeah?” Smirking, Jervis poised his hand, ready to snap his fingers. “Watch this.”

 

As Jervis’ fingertips flinched, Cas leaped forward, crashing them into a wall. Cas growled as they struggled, their matched strength rendering them into a deadlock. What the demon of oppression lacked in size, he made up for in speed, thrashing about wildly against the incubus. Being larger, Cas used that to his advantage, stretching over him intimidatingly and swatting his arms away with ease. 

 

“I will tear you apart,” Cas murmured as he leaned in close. “It appears ‘my kind’ isn’t so bad at fighting after all.”

 

Jervis threw his head back in laughter, reaching behind his shoulder as he jeered. “Ah, but does your kind carry defensive weapons?” 

 

Cas watched in astonishment as the oppressor pulled a long, pewter-toned blade from its sheath. The thin sword radiated with chaotic energy, and as his opposer drew closer, Cas could already feel the torment of being sliced with it. He flinched when Jervis made a mock jab at him.

 

“What’s the matter, whore?” he taunted. “Your hardware no match for mine?”

 

Although the insults were irritating, they stalled the oppressive energy from settling on John. It was only one item on Cas’ to do list within these walls, but it was the first item. And it was a success. No matter what happened from here on out, at least he could give Dean this moment of victory. Before continuing their skirmish, he glanced outside to see Dean watching intently from behind the porch.

 

He hurtled to the side as Jervis flew forward. He was fast, and if Cas blinked, he might not see the next blow coming. Jumping from corner to corner, he looked behind his shoulder to see the smaller one tailing him a little closer with every bound. Even in the air, Cas couldn’t shake him. He flared his wings, making himself as big as possible, but reared back in agony as a sudden sharpness whipped across his face.

 

The wound hissed with steam and burned his skin. He yelped as he pulled back, rubbing his hands over his face and trying to stay out of the blade’s reach. Disoriented, he staggered around helplessly as Jervis floated closer, leering with his weapon raised.

 

“If you ever attempt to make me abandon a portal again, I will end you. For now,” he asserted with a smug grin, “you will go hither and thither with that scar to remind you and everyone else of your failure. Ouch. How much does that hurt, you little slut?”

 

The striking blue in his eyes shifted. Brows creasing resolutely, Cas squinted at the bold demon of oppression before a dark purr reverberated from his throat. The time of playing by Jervis’ rules was over. 

 

Using his impressive wingspan, Cas blindsided Jervis with a single, violent  _ flap _ , sending him rolling back towards his cloud of smoke. Before he could get his bearings, he screamed as Cas embedded his claws into his skull and sank his teeth into his shoulder. Blood ran down his chest in thick streams, and he looked on in horror as paralysis took his body in one wide, agonizing wave. Jervis’ jaw dropped in an effort to cry out, but his mouth got stuck that way as the incubus venom took a full seat of every inch of him, head to toe. 

 

His terrified eyes met Cas. The incubus’ fangs and corners of his mouth dripped with blood, his eyes blazed with the most orphic hues of blue, and his claws dragged down his body, deep enough to draw more blood. Cas knew his every nerve was on edge, and he deliberately played to the forced physiological reactions his touch would proffer.

 

“You know,” Cas’ low voice graveled. “I could fetch a pretty penny for being inside a thing like you.”

 

Jervis’ eyes got wide, and his breath hitched; he could do nothing but look on as Cas flicked his fingers across his body. Those smooth claws and rough calluses wandered lower and lower, threatening to tease his groin area but not quite surrendering to it.

 

“The return is almost twice as much as a plain human soul. I don’t know why more of us don’t do it.”

 

Cas ran his teeth down the demon’s stomach, wanting nothing more than to chew him to pieces. He could have. It would have been the easiest thing in the world with him lying there so still and pliant. He stopped his teeth right below his belly and licked his chops.

 

“I could kill you.”

 

Jervis gave an imploring look, as if that would’ve been preferable to the alternative. But Cas gave no such pity. He pushed the smaller demon’s knees up and apart, baring his ass before him. Then, Cas took his length in his hand and stroked himself, all the while maintaining eye contact with the terrified creature below him.

 

“But I won’t… for now.” He slid inside him in one fluid motion, feeling the demon’s muscles spasm against him. When a small sound emitted from Jervis’ throat, Cas bit him again in the same place before beginning a punishing pace. “Today,” he gritted, “you will go hither and thither with a scar on your shoulder. Every demon on our plane will see your shame. Every incubus in hell will smell you, painted with your own blood and come.”

  
The demon coughed up a nonvocal sob, powerless against the foreboding creature above him. When he squinted his eyes shut, he was rattled to feel the sharp sting of Cas’ hand smack his face.

 

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Look into my eyes, you utter fool.”

 

When Jervis resisted, and even jerked his body a little, Cas latched onto his shoulder and pumped in as much venom as he could spare. As the bleeding demon floated boneless in midair, his eyes fell open, once again forced to watch the scene play upon his own body.

 

“I’m beginning to see why no one does this, after all. Demons are too… squirmy.” Cas scrunched his nose in displeasure at how quickly venom ran through another demon’s system. Making a mental note of it, he adjusted his angle to plunge deeper into Jervis’ ass.

 

The new position caused Jervis’ breath to quicken and blood rush to his dick like nothing else in all his years. Cas watched as the demon of oppression spurted rope after rope of come all over himself, yanking out in repugnance as the last bit of spend dribbled out. He leaned in close, careful not to disturb the mess on Jervis’ stomach, and growled in his ear.

 

“How much does that hurt, you little slut?”

 

Looking up from his work, Cas spotted the intense blackness of the portal. It spun and ebbed, constant but flowing. Cas had never hated anything more. With one last detesting glare, he thrust Jervis’ limp body into the void. Using their mixed blood from Jervis’ claw marks and Cas’ own face, he painted the palm of his hand and struck the wall with it. The portal rippled and sputtered, whining against what the demon blood demanded. With a low gurgle, it shrank until it was no more, now sealed and forever blocked from all beings of darkness.

 

With a sudden jolt, Cas punched through the house and into the yard, regaining balance as he spread his wings. With the absence of a portal, Cas was no longer welcome in the house, so the force of the seal threw him out. Luckily, the same seal that kept him out would keep out spectra, possessors, and oppressors, including Jervis. With the Winchesters in danger and Dean no longer living at home, it was a sacrifice he was more than happy to make.

 

The dark energy driving John Winchester to madness was gone.


	15. Renegade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes it abundantly clear how he feels about Cas’ unique brand of justice. His day only gets worse from there.

Dean smacked Cas across the face with a gloved hand. “What the hell did you do that for, asshole?”

 

It wasn’t the reaction Cas was expecting. He touched his stinging cheek for a moment before meeting Dean’s angered gaze with his own shocked one. “To which action are you referring, Dean? I did several things inside your father’s house.”

 

“You know what I’m talking about. You raped that guy. What the actual, legitimate fuck, man?”

 

“It’s not that simple, which you would know if you would allow me to speak. Besides, utilizing my abilities brought tactical advantage.”

 

“The wings and the paralysis, sure. Not your dick!”

 

Cas gave an exasperated sigh. “It was no different than any other job I do. You’ve seen the things I’m required to do to people in the dark.”

 

“It’s not the same!” Dean shouted. “You didn’t need to do it. Nobody made you. You absolute, complete piece of shit!”

 

“I beg to differ,” Cas growled, voice raised. Dean cowered back slightly. “My job is to have intercourse. Period. You might not understand the complications of order within Lilith’s army, but I do. The rules of my plane are slightly different from yours. I do not have the luxury of adhering to morals, Dean.”

 

“Bullshit! I know you have a conscience. I saw the look on your face when you fucked… What was his name? Graham? Greg?” Dean scratched his head. “Gary! When you had him under you, I could tell you hated it. That you were just doing a job. This, today… This was different. You didn’t fuck Jervis because you’re an incubus. You fucked him ‘cause you liked it.”

 

Cas deflated under Dean’s sharp, elevated words. “He deserved it.”

 

“Nobody deserves that,” Dean bit back. “No matter how much of an ass he is, you shouldn’t have done that. You should’a just killed him.”

 

“I could have died by his sword, but he spared me,” Cas explained. “I spared him, as well.”

 

Dean shook his head vehemently. “Death would have been kinder.”

 

Kicking a rock by the side of the house, Cas looked down so he wouldn’t have to face Dean’s condemning glare. He didn’t want to entertain the idea that his mate was seething with rage directed towards him. He wanted to keep telling himself it was just a job, it didn’t mean anything, and the smarmy thing got what was coming to him. He didn’t want to accept that being with a human meant living with a sense of morality, which complicated his mentality more than he cared to admit.

 

“Did anybody in there see you?”

 

Thankful for the change in subject, Cas shook his head. “Your father exited the room, leaving me and Jervis alone. The black cloud dissipated once I threw him into the vortex. He won’t be able to hurt your family anymore.”

 

Dean relaxed at the news. His jaw was still set in anger, but his shoulders slumped down with the realization that his dad was free of demonic oppression. He no longer had influence from without to give him an edge. It didn’t erase the possibility of him losing his cool, but it was hard to call it coincidental that the only rageful outbursts he had were while the portal was present.

 

“Could you hear my prayer?”

 

“I heard something,” Cas replied, face still downcast. “It was a little broken up, but it was there. Your text helped immensely.”

 

“I still don’t know why my old man came home early,” Dean rambled to himself, straining his neck to look inside. He couldn’t see the tops of anyone’s heads from where he stood. Hopefully, that meant everyone was settled in and getting along. “Tomorrow is supposed to be the half day. Wait a sec.” He took off a glove and unlocked his phone. With the wifi that still automatically connected to his house, he checked the weather forecast. “Snow tomorrow,” he said with pursed lips. “The county schools must’ve shut down. People around here, always freaking out over snow before it even starts falling…”

 

“Dean, do you want me to leave?”

 

He turned around to see Cas timidly looking up at him. For as large as he could make himself in the heat of battle, and as strong as he was, he looked so small and defeated at this moment. His wings were folded in with his back hunched over like a dog with his tail between his legs. His eyes, though still glowing, were dull and sad, and Dean almost felt bad for him.

 

Almost.

 

“Yes,” he responded coldly. He put his other glove back on and began walking towards the woods, away from the street. “Goodbye, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

Dean decided to go to work early that day, for which Bobby seemed grateful… in his own unique way, of course.

 

“There you are. I’ve got about two hundred pounds of salt waiting in the back,” he snapped as soon as Dean walked into the busy store. He was stuck behind the cash register with five people in line. “Haul it all up here. Someone just grabbed the last bag on the shelf.”

 

Dean had never seen the store so crowded. He must have skimmed over the part of the forecast that talked about exactly how much snow they were anticipating. Scooting past everyone, he closed himself into the back room and found the pallet of ice melt. After tossing a dozen bags onto a cart, he pushed it out, his load immediately lightening as people took from his pile on his way through the store.

 

With only four bags remaining on his cart by the time he reached the back shelf, he tossed them onto the floor before hurrying back to reload. At least three people stopped him on the way, pulling his attention in six different directions before he could get back on track. Yes ma’am, we carry pepper spray. No sir, the torque wrenches don’t come gift wrapped. Yes ma’am, the ice melt is against the wall and I’m on my way to get more.

 

After thirty minutes, the crowd set on preparing for the snowstorm made their way through Bobby’s line and out the door. A few people calmly lingered, which allowed Dean to recover the store from the afternoon rush. Having a distraction was exactly what he was hoping for. The rampage was exhilarating, instead of stressful, and the stillness afterward relaxed him.

 

Bobby even had a state inspection lined up for him. It really was Christmas. The biting cold breeze burned his cheeks, but at least he was safe. And away from Cas. Every thought of him brought a new wave of resentment, and it was all Dean could do to keep from smashing in the windshield. 

 

He was furious. Cas’ actions were completely uncalled for, as far as Dean was concerned, and if his current feelings were any indication, he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive him. It made him sick to think about engaging in sexual activity with the creature when he saw firsthand how cruel he could be. The demon he watched today from the inside, he didn’t even recognize.

 

Castiel was a monster.

 

Halfway through his shift, Bobby sent Dean away to get food. He handed him a twenty dollar bill and said, “Get something for you, too”, so off he went, collar up against the wind and hands stuffed in his pockets. 

 

It was a short enough walk. Before swinging the door open at the burger joint, he glanced inside, and jumped back in fright.

 

“Tessa,” he murmured in disgust, shielding himself with the building space between the door and window. Before he could decide between waiting it out and trying the taco place instead, she exited the building and walked to her car. Dean turned his back to her and swung around, hand on the door handle and oh, so close to safety.

 

“Dean!”

 

He grumbled with a loathful eye roll before turning around with a smile so fake, it would make Barbie jealous. “Hey,” he drew out, raising his brows in mock surprise.

 

“I was like, I recognize the back of that head anywhere,” she giggled, coming closer. “It’s been so long. Where have you been?”

 

The smile dropped. “Oh, uh... I’m here and there.” He gave a short chuckle and tried to shrug it off. “How have you been —”

 

“But you’re in town,” she noted. “So you can’t have gone off that far. Your coat collar is turned up and your face is red, so you walked. You must not have a car… unless you learned to hotwire one.”

 

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes in the house. Really, Tessa. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

 

“Your dad’s been looking for you.”

 

Dean’s heart leaped into this throat. “So I’ve heard.”

 

“You really should go back, Dean.”

 

“I really shouldn’t.”

 

“He is your father and the pastor. He just wants what’s best for you.”

 

Dean couldn’t breathe. He swallowed the lump choking him, taking in deep breaths that came out foggy against the icy air. “You can’t tell him you saw me.”

 

“I have every intention of it.”

 

“Please, Tessa. No,” he entreated. Even though his body was cold, he was starting to sweat. Everything within him cried  _ run _ ,  _ run _ ,  _ run  _ but he couldn’t move. “Don’t listen to him. I don’t want him to follow me. We’re adults, you and me, and we don’t have to follow our parents around like lost puppies.”

 

“But we should because we are commanded to honor our parents,” she retorted. “Besides, you have done great wickedness in the sight of the Lord.”

 

Dean didn’t hide his eye roll this time. “I don’t think he actually cares, Tessa.”

 

“You can’t prove that! Pastor Winchester has the holy scriptures to back him up. What do you have?”

 

“Do you know how crazy you sound?” he snapped, finger in her face. “You are insane. Do you hear me? In. Sane.”

 

“No, Dean, but you are. You’re unwell. This isn’t you.”

 

“Oh, yes it is,” he laughed humorlessly. “I’ve never been straight. You just didn’t know it until two days ago. And you have the nerve to tell me this ‘isn’t me’? Just because the fact that I like dick makes you uncomfortable? What does that say about you?”

 

Tessa blushed under his brash description. 

 

“I know how you feel about queers and to be honest, I don’t really care. You’re an asshole. Whatever. I’ve moved on. All I really care about is being able to walk the streets of my childhood hometown without having to look over my shoulder. I just want to be left alone. Will you do that for me, Tessa? Just agree to disagree and leave me the hell alone?”

 

She shook her head. “I can’t do that. I have an obligation.”   
  
“To who? My dad?”

 

She nodded.

 

“He’s an obsessed bastard, hell-bent on sending me to conversion therapy. Is that what you want? For people to talk down to me, and repeatedly hurt me like I’m some kind of freak?”

 

Tessa bit the inside of her cheek and looked off to the side.

 

“He’s brainwashing you. He’s brainwashing all of you.” Dean lowered his volume with each word. “He’s used his influence to get into your head. Don’t do this.”

 

Another voice caught his attention from behind. “Too late, pretty boy. You’ve got a reward on your head, after all.” Dean slowly turned 180 degrees, hoping against all hope it wasn’t who he already knew it was. He raised his eyes and cowered in distress.

 

“Besides,” Gordon Walker continued with a devious smirk. “The police wouldn’t help your daddy. So he enlisted an… alternative search party.”

 

Dean backed up and looked between Tessa and Gordon in disbelief. “No way. You two? Allies?”

 

“Strange combo, I know,” Gordon explained with an understanding nod. “But she knows you, and I know the town. We put our differences aside for the express purpose of hunting you down. Looks like it worked.”

 

Dean glared at Tessa. “You’ve been stalking me?” 

 

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Gordon offered before taking a few steps back.

 

“Well, I’ve been trying,” she said with a sigh. “You’re harder to follow than you think. But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.” She curtseyed cutely, batting her eyes.

 

Dean blinked, brows furrowed in confusion.

 

“Oh, you silly thing. Who’s mom do you think caught you and Lisa in your dad’s car that day?”

 

The air around them seemed to still. Time stopped for a second as Dean fully comprehended the web in which he was caught. Tessa’s overzealous mother really did that. She went squealing to his dad, undoubtedly in “concern for his son’s spiritual well-being.” Tessa networked with Gordon — how was beyond both his understanding and scope of caring — to find him and earn favor with the pastor.

 

“Why?” Dean breathed with a small shake of his head. “Why are you two doing this? Especially you, Gordon. What the hell, man? What would Frankie think about you selling me out?”

 

“Well, I’m in it for the money, obviously,” Gordon interjected, treading back into the circle. “As for trying to throw my sister into this, Frankie cares that I provide her food, clothing, and shelter. I think it’s my duty to go where the money is. Tessa says she doesn’t care about that, though. So I’m taking the full cut. The hell if I know why she’s into it.”

 

“Sometimes doing the right thing is a reward in itself.” Her tone was aloof and pious.

 

“Sure,” Dean slid sarcastically. “No, really. What’s the real reason?”

 

Tessa cocked her head, self-conscious about someone seeing through her lie. “You’re right, Dean. There’s another reason. You see, after you get back from camp and you’re all better,” she reached out for his arm and he bristled against her touch, “you’re going to need an outlet. Something to keep you on the right path. Someone to take care of you… the right way.”

 

Dean looked from her unwelcome hand to her face. “Someone to… take care of me?”

 

“In the biblical sense, of course,” she said coyly. “If my mom can earn good standing in the pastor’s sight just by tattle-tailing, imagine the brownie points I’m about to score here. I already told him I don’t want the money, because I want something else. And I think he’s going to give it to me.”

 

Dean swallowed heavily. “You’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about, are you?”

 

“If your thoughts go into the gutter as often as I suspect, then, yes. I am.”

 

He jerked out of her grasp. “Wait wait wait. You’re turning me in, to get on my dad’s radar, so he’ll marry me off to you?”

 

“Yep,” she affirmed with a broad smile. “It’s like the princess saving the prince. So progressive. So romantic!”

 

“Okay, first of all, you’re not progressive. Like, at all. So… stop. Secondly, gross. That’s basically an arranged marriage.”

 

“Not at all. We already know each other, I’m an upstanding lady in waiting, and you’re the preacher’s son. A heritage fit for our little ones. It’s a perfect union.”

 

“No, it isn’t. Look Tessa, you’re cute. I’ll give you that. But I wouldn’t stick my dick in you if you were the last bitch on earth.”

 

“I have kept myself pure for a man like you! How dare you cuss at me!”

 

“Thirdly, my answer is no. On all levels. ‘No’ to going quietly. ‘No’ to your offer to help ‘fix’ me. I don’t need fixing, thanks. ‘No’ to your weird marriage proposal. No to everything. I’m so out.”

 

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Ready, Gordon!”

 

Dean let out a long grumble as he turned to face the large man coming towards him. He could knock over Tessa, no problem; but Gordon was strong and rough, and Dean wasn’t sure of the chance he stood against him. It looked like he was about to find out.

 

This was it. The fight for his life. Dean backed up several times, holding his palms up and discouraging Gordon from advancing. Gordon ignored his repeated requests to stop, lunging for him once Dean tripped over a parking block. Yanked to his feet, Dean struggled against Gordon’s tight squeeze, resisting and yelling as the man dragged him across the parking lot.

 

Tessa opened the side door to a van parked diagonally across three spaces. Gordon probably pulled into them in a hurry, right after either he or Tessa spotted him. Son of a bitch, these two were an unlikely pair. Maybe Tessa should marry Gordon, instead.

 

Dean fought against each shove. Every cry for help went unanswered. No one inside seemed to notice, or if they did, they remained uninterested. He could see the carpet on the floor of the van by now -- the carpet he would lie on with zip ties behind his back. He whimpered against Gordon’s hand over his mouth as they inched closer, his captors’ taunting voices growing murky as his head swam with the horrific future ahead.

 

Gordon began lifting him to haul him into the van. Dean kicked the foot stand below the doorframe, shoving himself against Gordon and sending them both onto the ground. With the split second he had with no arms around him, he rolled to the side and pushed himself up. Just then, a busted up car puttered into the parking lot and the occupant rolled up next to him.

 

“Get in!” the female inside yelled through a half-open window.

 

Dean scrambled to his feet, narrowly dodging Gordon’s strong arms on his way into the pathetic vehicle. He slammed the door behind him and screamed at her to move, to which she responded by putting her foot to the floor, which made the car nearly choke as it gathered momentum for the ride out.

 

Dean looked over. “Lisa,” he sighed, throwing his head against the headrest. “Am I glad to see you.”

 

“Are you alright?” she demanded as her car slowly rolled onto a service road. “I was leaving the grocery store and heard someone scream, and then I saw it was you, and —”

 

Dean seemed to have just found his breath again. He heaved in and out, rubbing his face in one hand while the other grasped the roof handle. “Tessa and Gordon have joined forces and were trying to kidnap me.”

 

“God, Dean. I didn’t get a good look at the guy, but... Tessa tried to kidnap you?”

 

“Yep, and you wouldn’t believe the reason if I told you. Just drive.”

 

The car wouldn’t go any faster, so she just kept making turns, making it harder and harder for Gordon and Tessa to find them. “Where am I taking you?”

 

Dean bit a nail. Would he dare go back to Bobby’s shop? How long those two were tailing him was anyone’s guess. His workplace might be compromised, and going back tonight would let him know the answer in the worst way possible. It was too early to hit the gym, although he was fairly certain no one suspected him to be camping out there.

 

“Can I come over to your house?” he asked meekly.

 

“Yes,” she answered right away. “But you’re not gonna like what you see.”

 

“You think I’m gonna get judgy, after what I’ve been through today?”

 

“I’m just saying. My house is… a mess.”

 

“You mean ‘drug den’ mess, not ‘oops I forgot to vacuum’ mess, right?”

 

“Yes,” Lisa grumbled. “I just don’t like anyone seeing my mom in the state she’s in.”

 

Dean recalled the day he handed off a morning-after pill after carefully avoiding her mother. “You once told me, ‘Don’t let her see you.’ What did you mean by that?”

 

“It’s not about her seeing you. It’s about you seeing her. I just… don’t like it. If one person sees her high off her ass, that’s one more person I’ve gotta worry about knowing the secret. I know,” she interrupted with a finger raised as Dean opened his mouth to object. “I know you’d never tell. I trust you, I do. It’s just a privacy thing. It’s nothing personal.”

 

“I get that,” Dean acknowledged. “I really appreciate you letting me crash at your place.”

 

“You’d do it for me.”

 

He smiled. If he had a place, it would be true. But he knew what she meant.

 

“So,” she piped up after a moment of comfortable silence. “Word on the street is, you got caught getting cozy with a boy. Does that mean you’re… seeing someone?”

 

Dean let out an exhale through his nose. He might as well get used to this question. “The rumors are true. And yes, I’m with someone.”

 

“Anyone I’d know?”

 

“Nope. Not really from around here.”

 

“A long-distance relationship,” she deduced with raised brows. “He came in to visit, I’m guessing. And your door wasn’t locked, at the worst possible moment.”

 

“Basically.” It was close enough, anyway. Did long distance relationships include jumping from the spiritual to the physical realm? He bit his lip. What were he and Cas, now? They didn’t exactly part on the best terms. He didn’t even want to look at the guy.

 

“I’m happy for you,” she said genuinely.

 

“For real?”

 

“For real.” She took another turn before Dean began recognizing the street names. They were getting close to her house. “You deserve to be happy, and if he makes you happy, then I’m a fan.”

 

Dean nodded curtly as they rolled into her cul-de-sac. He hoped the conversation could end there, after such a hectic day. He was done talking about love and hope and happily ever after. For today, anyway. Maybe he would feel less angry with Cas in the morning.

 

“I need to call Bobby. I was on my lunch break and took off with his money.” Lisa kept the car on as he dialed so they’d stay warm. It was comforting to hear the old man’s gruff voice answering. 

 

“Heya Bobby, some people jumped me on my break. I had to make a break for it. I’m real sorry.” A moment of listening. “I’m with someone from school right now. I’m just gonna stay at her house for the night.” Another couple of seconds. “Are you sure? Just take the twenty dollars out of my paycheck. ...Okay… okay, Bobby. Fine. Thanks, hey — ” Dean pulled his phone away to look at his screen, which had gone black with the abruptly ended call.

 

“He sounds delightful,” Lisa observed with widened eyes.

 

“Oh, you have no idea.” The temperature gauge caught Dean’s attention, and he leaned over disapprovingly. “Damn, Lisa. Your hunk’a junk is overheating.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with it. That happens when it sits still too long.” She cut the engine, confident enough in the residual heat to keep them warm for as long as they’d stay in the car.

 

“Man, if that’s the head gasket, you’re in for a world of trouble.”

 

“Thanks, that’s reassuring.”

 

Dean zipped his jacket as the cold seeped in. “I could take a look at it for you. Just bring it to the shop next time I’m there. Dunno when that’ll be, but…”

 

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

 

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”

 

“No.”

 

“My Christmas present to you.”

 

She laughed and shook her head. “Dean, stop.”

 

“No car, no transportation in and out of town. Tax-deductible job or not, you need to be able to get places. Come on, humor me. I need something to do, to get my mind off how much my life sucks.”

 

She finally caved with a long sigh. “Fine. Now let’s go inside. It’s not much warmer, just to warn you.”

 

“Awesome,” he remarked victoriously. 

 

A neighbor’s dog barked on their way to the front door. The house smelled strongly of weed, and they had yet to step inside. Cigarette butts littered the cement steps. The door creaked when Lisa opened it, and a pungent odor hit him as he walked in. He guessed it to be a combination of trash, body odor, and whatever goodies they were hiding in the floor vents.

 

The living room was cluttered, like a fight had broken out. Or maybe that’s just how they kept it. Spare sheets and stained pillows were strewn across the two couches, and a full black trash bag sat on a coffee table, blocking the television. On the floor were shoes, papers, and stuffing from the recliner, along with a grimy mattress standing up vertically against a window.

 

Dean looked down when a small “mew” cut through the silence. “I didn’t know you had a cat,” he noted, a little apprehensive as it rubbed against his leg.

 

“We don’t,” Lisa replied, leading the way by stepping over the larger pieces littering the floor. “They just sort of… show up.”

 

He hummed his reply as he took the same steps as Lisa, nervous he would step on a living creature at any moment. The way was clearer once they reached the stairs. The wood squeaked under each step, and Dean ducked under a cobweb his shorter peer didn’t have to think twice about.

 

At the top of the stairs, Lisa put a finger to her lip and held her hand up. Dean complied, staying still and quiet while she peeked into the first room off the hallway. She closed the door quietly and took a few more steps before someone spoke directly behind Dean, startling him.

 

“Lisa?” the rusty voice croaked. “Y’seen m’extra quilt lying around, honey?”

 

Dean turned to see the same woman as the last day he dropped by. Her scraggly hair was in a bun half-fallen out, and she was obviously not wearing a bra under her tank top. He looked back at Lisa, who tiptoed back over and spoke back quietly.

 

“Sorry Mommy, I haven’t seen it. Mom, this is Dean. He’s a friend.”

 

“Hi,” she offered, holding out a limp hand.

 

Dean shook her hand warmly. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Uh huh,” she mumbled. “Lisa, I’m going to bed. Tell your uncle hi for me.”

 

“I will,” she murmured as her mom trotted off in worn slippers.

 

Dean mouthed “your uncle?” as she slowly walked out of earshot.

 

Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something she says a lot. She thinks since I go to an upstanding private school, I’m going to see my uncle every day.”

 

“Oh,” he breathed, unsure of how loud he was allowed to be while still in the hallway. Lisa returned to checking rooms and waved him over once she cleared one. She flicked the light on and showed him inside.

 

It wasn’t any neater than the living room, but no one was sleeping on the bed, which he supposed was the issue with the others.

 

“I know it’s not much, but it’s a place to sleep.”

 

“I haven’t slept on a mattress since last Thursday,” he told her.

 

Her head reared back with surprise. “Oh. Well, I can’t promise you it’ll be comfy.”

 

“It’ll be fine.” Dean gave an assuring smile. “Thank you for letting me crash.”

 

“Yep.” As she turned to leave, she asked, “Would you mind… not turning your light off until I’m downstairs? I’ve just developed this weird… phobia or something. I just get really nervous being in the dark. I can’t be alone… in the dark… with… certain people.”

 

“Men?”

 

Lisa stiffened.

 

“That’s understandable,” Dean agreed. “Nobody goes through what you went through and comes out the other side totally okay.”

 

“Um, yeah… well,” she faltered, stopping her hair behind an ear and shifting her footing restlessly. “I’m getting better, I think. I was sleeping with all my lights on, for a while. Then that got too expensive, so I —”

 

“Hey,” Dean interrupted. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re a rock star, ‘kay?”

 

Her nod was blunt, but she pursed her lips in a tight smile. “Okay.”

 

“You’re doing awesome. I have a feeling you don’t hear that enough, so, I’m gonna say it.”

 

Lisa blinked several times, eyes glazing over. She thumbed the corners of her eyes and sniffed. “Thanks. I just —” A thick sob swallowed her words.

 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

 

“No,” she fought, tears running down her face freely. “I should be the one telling you everything is going to be okay. You’re the one who needs help right now, not me.”

 

Dean’s short laugh was shallow and humorless. “I’ll survive for five more minutes. Would you like to sit down?” When Lisa shook her head, he slid the hand previously motioning toward the mattress into his jean pocket. “That’s okay. What would you like to do?”

 

“Just — talk — here,” she said weakly, one word between each sob.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spotted a stranger trudge by with a spoon. One of the other doors slammed shut soon after, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Lisa ever felt completely at ease here. People would come and go, all either high off their asses or looking to supply the demand on Lawrence’s streets. In this short amount of time within these walls, it appeared as the house never slept.

 

How sure was she that she could get a full night’s sleep without someone on a bad trip trying to break down her door? How many emotions ran elevated under the influences that ruled this house? He sincerely hoped there existed no portals here, to make matters worse. Besides, he was in no frame of mind to have Cas trying to sniff him out.

 

“I just wanna get out of here,” she continued after catching her breath. 

 

Dean scanned the room from where he stood. He could definitely see the appeal of moving out. Best case scenario: She gets a job in town after her next birthday, finishes school, picks up maybe one or two side gigs, and changes her life. Maybe her mom will even want to go to rehab by then. Even with a scholarship, enrolling in a private school left no saving money, so college might not be in the cards right away, but Dean knew that wasn’t a high priority. Honestly, it wasn’t for him, either; he just wanted to get away from all the noise long enough to figure himself out.

 

“I know you’ll make it happen,” he said.

 

Nodding, she relaxed against the door frame, her tone of voice decidedly changing the subject. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

 

“Who knows. Tessa will be at school, but Gordon’s going to be on my ass first thing in the morning. If he finds me while I’m alone at my workplace, there’s no telling what he’ll do to get me to come along. Oh, by the way. Guess who busted us when we went to get tacos?”

 

Lisa raised a brow.

 

“Tessa’s freakin’ mom.”

 

“No, shut up,” she responded in shocked disbelief. When Dean just dipped his head down in a self-explanatory glare and gently nodded, she wiped her hand across her face and made a gagging sound. “What an ass.”

 

“And Tessa wants to kidnap me so my dad will marry us.”

 

The only motion Lisa made for a full three seconds was two heavy blinks. “You’re lying.”

 

“I wish.”

 

“Woah,” she hummed lowly. “Never seen that mating dance before. And I didn’t know she had a thing for you. She seems to… kind of hate you?”

 

“I think she’s more attracted to the idea of the perfect father for her crotch goblins. And she thinks she can fix me.” He added the second sentence as a last-minute thought, trailing off quietly at the end.

 

“Yeah, sounds like a totally healthy marriage.”

 

What a fucking mess. And instead of improving, it just kept getting worse. When would it end? Dean bit a nail as he considered all possible outcomes for tomorrow. There were a lot, and most of them sucked. He could cut down on most of the bad ones by taking a day off and being somewhere no one expected. His dad would be on high alert and Gordon would scour every inch of Dean’s usual stops, which made a disastrous combination.

 

He wanted to hope out loud that this would clear up soon. He wanted to tell Lisa that he was going to be fine; that he could take a few days out of town to flush out the search party. After her inspiring resolve, he owed her at least a witty one-liner about how much better his circumstances were going to get. He wanted so badly to justify a sliver of hope, but when he searched for grounds for such a bold claim, he came up empty.

 

Any “maybe” or “one day” stopped somewhere in his throat. All “it’ll get better”s got beaten back down by all recent experiences. The stark reality in which he lived stifled out anything optimistic he ever dared entertain the thought of.

 

He let out an unsteady exhale. He had nothing left to give.

 

He was empty.

 

The subject of his soulmate was another clusterfuck entirely. With plenty of time between his family’s liberation from a demon’s clutch and now, he had thought through Cas’ actions with a fine-toothed comb. Anger welled up inside Dean every time he relived it. Through human eyes, this was black and white. He incapacitated someone and controlled their body for his own gain. It seemed simple enough.

 

But from the night he flew with the incubus, Dean knew Cas’ perspective as well. Taking away someone’s autonomy was just another day at the office for someone in his line of work — no, his line of forced labor. Cas had no autonomy of his own, either. It was, quite literally, fuck or die. Sex demons that couldn’t make quota would be harshly punished and Cas made it quite clear that Hell was not kind to insubordinates. No doubt some of his own kind never made it out of the Pit.

 

Dean couldn’t allow himself to sympathize. Cas had crossed a line. It might be blurry, on a plane where morality is relative and human souls are used as currency, but the line remains. Although it crossed his mind that he could be wrong in his assessment and Cas was justified in his actions, he would not give an inch. He was too hard-headed. And if his mate ever did crawl back asking for forgiveness, he would have to give a long, hard look at eternity with this creature before granting pardon.

 

“I think I’m gonna call Rufus,” Dean decided. “He’s probably wondering where I am.”

 

Lisa nodded and turned to leave. “Stay as long as you need.”

 

Once she was gone, Dean lowered himself onto the mattress and found it mostly box with not much spring. He shrugged it off, glancing at the pile of sheets and blankets he would lay overtop of, and grabbed his phone. He found a text, which he did not remember receiving; but his sound was off and at some point in the conversation he was so deep in thought, he wasn’t surprised at all a buzz on the butt didn’t disrupt him.

 

**> > Good evening Dean,**

 

**Bobby told me what happened today and that you will not be utilizing the services at Rufus’ bed and breakfast five-star resort hotel. While I am saddened by your absence, I trust you will keep your obnoxious ass out of any more trouble and you’ll resume your residence tomorrow night.**

 

**Yours truly,**

**Rufus jmlkjkl**

 

Dean guffawed while imagining Rufus typing out such a tedious message, and replied.

 

**< < First time texting, huh?**

 

The response took entirely too long and got another laugh out of him.

 

**> > Dean,**

 

**My finger slipped, oh young one with the mighty phone skills and fingers that aren’t overridden with arthritis.**

 

**Rufus**

 

After finding a dusty charger plugged into a forgotten corner, Dean charged his phone and piled some layers onto the mattress. He thought about teasing Rufus about signing his name after every text, but decided against it. Not the conversation for tonight.

 

**< < I’m okay, thanks for asking. And yes, I plan on staying low for a while. I’ll see you tomorrow.**

 

He fluffed up a pillow that was probably older than him, folding it over and laying it flat again in an effort to find just the right angle. Its insides were lumpy and questionable, but it was more than he had in days, so he enjoyed being able to be picky about his comfort for one blessed night. Rufus’ last text made him smile.

 

**> > Goodnight, you crazy kid.**

 

**Rufus**

 

Dean didn’t bother answering, though it was kind of sweet that the cantankerous old man was conducting his text messages as a cross between talking on the phone and sending snail mail, starting the conversation with a salutation and ending each message with his name. He could physically feel the saltiness in the texts, like sandpaper grating against skin and it only added to the charm. Someone unfamiliar with the energy Bobby and Rufus carried might call it mean-spirited, but to Dean, it was oddly comforting.

 

Not wanting to disrupt his perfect sleeping position, Dean chucked a discarded flip flop across the room to knock the light switch down. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned upward and opened them to see the small glow in the dark stars softly illuminating the ceiling. He wondered if they used to be Lisa’s, when she was a kid. He wondered if this used to be her room.

 

He wasn’t sure when sleep took him, but it must have been as soon as he closed his eyes again, because he awoke with a start, immediately questioning his surroundings. Relaxing once he remembered where he was, he rolled out of bed and rolled back the dust-lined curtains. He hadn’t checked the time yet, but voices were coming from downstairs, and he figured if it was late enough to talk loudly, it was time to get up.

 

Upon opening the door, he recognized one of the voices as that of Lisa’s mom. He was about to begin his trek downstairs when the chilling second voice stopped him in his tracks. The hands grasping the sticky railings turned suddenly clammy, and he withheld his own breath to hear the conversation clearer.

 

Gordon Walker was at the front door.

  
  



	16. Magick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While fleeing Gordon, Dean finds refuge in an unexpected corner of Lawrence. There, he gets continues his internet search for the soul-binding spell, where he stumbles across a familiar blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally beside myself with excitement over how deeply you guys have immersed yourselves into this story! I thought everyone was going to hate it, and I am NOT being "cute"... I am serious! This angle is soooo far out there, I wasn't even sure there would be a need for an AU like this. All I knew was that I had to write it. So, it's pretty cool to see you guys interacting and getting excited, pissed off, and sometimes overwhelmed. Your reactions to the chapters are SO AMAZING; please don't stop! <3 
> 
> So, about that last chapter... I'm seeing a lot of you on Team Cas! I actually expected a little more sympathy for Dean, but nooope, I was wrong. Chapter 15 was meant to cause an emotional reaction... I'm just pleasantly surprised I have so many of you rushing to justify Cas. Geez, I love you guys so much. <3 All of you who are throwing objects at Dean through the computer/phone screen: Just keep reading :) 
> 
> The only chapter warning I have is: Dean's still being a little shit. But... at this point, that's not much of a spoiler, soooo...

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Braeden,” Gordon articulated pleasantly. 

 

“Oh Red Fang, you’re such a charmer,” came the half-coherent response.

 

_ Red Fang? _ Dean thought.  _ That’s Gordon’s street name? What is this, vampire movie night? _

 

“Say,” the man at the door continued, as if an afterthought. “You haven’t happened to see this young man, have you? He’s a… friend.”

 

Dean’s blood ran cold. He listened helplessly, his only guess as to where Gordon got a photo of him being Tessa and her creepy ass. Knowing her, she probably got a good one from John freaking Winchester himself.

 

“Actually,” Mrs. Braeden answered after a moment. “He looks vaguely familiar. Huh. That’s weird.”

 

“You have seen him? Was it… at your house?”

 

Although her deep thought and long “uh” bought him a few precious seconds, Dean didn’t waste any more time standing around. He barreled back into his leased room, locked the door, and pocketed his phone. Heaving open the solid oak window pane, he looked down to see a lean-to shed directly below him. After slipping out of the window and onto the shed, he jumped the rest of the way to solid ground and hightailed it into a neighbor’s yard.

 

If there was any question whether Dean was still in town, it was put to rest the moment Gordon showed that picture to Lisa’s mom. The chase had begun, and exactly zero places were safe from the eyes of his hunter. Gordon’s knowledge of the city of Lawrence was his power, and he knew how to use it. He and Tessa already found Dean once; they could do it again.

 

Once shielded by a neighbor’s house, Dean kept running, only looking back to see if he was being followed. He lost track of how many miles he ran. He ran through ditches, climbed over fences, and crossed countless roads; he didn’t stop running until he was deep within the town square, where he spotted a bus a few hundred feet removed from its next stop. Taking it as a sign, he walked briskly to the stop, where he was the first one on. 

 

Throat burning with every heaving breath, he slumped into a seat near the front. He chose a spot away from the window, as if it would make that huge of a difference in a quick getaway. His glance at the destination display was brief, but he was headed to the southeasternmost tip of town — a short hitchhike to Olathe. At this point, anywhere but here would do.

 

Several more people boarded, but no one to cause alarm and the ride was empty enough for Dean to sit alone. He was grateful for it. After sprinting all the way to the bus stop, he could do without pressure to keep his elbows to himself or carry on a pointless conversation with a stranger. He sank into the seat, legs sprawled out, and read a text he had gotten sometime between climbing out of Lisa’s window and now.

 

**> > u ok?**

 

It was Charlie. The one person who had actually shown concern enough to consistently reach out. His fingers still shook from all the residual energy after trying to stay in motion, but he plunked out a reply.

 

**< < not really lol**

 

He couldn’t think of a good reason to tell fibs at this point. He was making a day trip to Olathe to discourage Gordon from his search. In what universe was that normal?

 

**> > my spidey senses told me to text you**

 

The edges of his mouth turned up weakly at her text. His throat was raw, but his heart rate was still in the process of calming down, so he attempted to make small, shallow breaths so it wouldn’t hurt as much. He tried inhaling through his nose but found the breaths to be more restricting. 

 

What could he tell her that wouldn’t freak her out? There existed no part of this equation that was ordinary or soothing. He decided on an oversimplified version of his past twenty-four hours and trusted it wouldn’t spur more questions than answers.

 

**< < My dad found out I’m in town, so I’m on my way to Olathe. It’s only for a day.**

 

**> > Whatever you’ve gotta do to keep him off your trail, Winchester. Have a fun trip and don’t get caught**

 

**< < Will do**

 

Dean wasn’t sure if “fun” was in the cards, but he supposed anything was possible in the context of being truly foreign to the townsfolk. After sitting still for a few minutes, breaths finally regulated, he entertained the thought of calling Cas. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. That asshole was the last person on earth who deserved his attention, and yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about how consoling and infuriating it would be to hear his voice.

 

He gave in.  _ Dean, why are you doing this? _ The phone rang four times, then went to voicemail. 

 

“ _ This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail _ .”

 

The ending beep signaled the chance to leave a message, but Dean sat there open-mouthed for two seconds before hanging up. He couldn’t even think of anything to say. What if Cas had answered? He probably would’ve hung up then, too.

 

Dean let out a disgruntled sigh and opened a new message. What would he say? Their line of communication since the incident had been radio silence. He told Cas everything he meant to say, and Cas showed no real signs of contrition in response. The chances of clearing the air through written words were slim to none, but even so, Dean needed to say something. 

 

Their bond tugged at his soul like a bitten fishline. It ached in an alien way he only guessed to be the result of the cosmic threads tying them together. For the first time since the name exchange, it felt… harrowing. It wasn’t normal. Something was wrong.

 

**< < Hey Cas, I called but no answer. Just wondering if you could get back with me when possible. I want to talk.**

 

He kept the phone on his lap so he could respond right away to any incoming messages. Amid his unmoving stance that Cas had done wrong, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was happening. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel Cas’ distress. He couldn’t tell anything else about the circumstances, just that they must be awful, to be able to detect them from beyond the veil.

 

Although he wanted to say more, he kept the message at that and shrugged the weird feeling off as pessimism brought on by every other goddamn thing that happened to him over the past week. He had enough on his plate; he didn’t need a tingly feeling in his gut to influence any decisions. Stern in his resolve, he fidgeted in his seat to keep from sending any more texts, and he certainly didn’t glance down at his phone every five seconds, expecting a response.

 

The rest of the ride was uninteresting, thank heaven. The last thing Dean wanted was for something unexpected to happen, after a nonstop solid week of his life not only turning upside down but continuing to roll until it held no semblance to its past form. Pissed off at the lack of response from Cas, Dean excused it as his boyfriend being a Petty Betty and prepared for drop off.

 

Still within Lawrence’s borders, Dean quickly exited the bus and got his bearings. Although he couldn’t spare much time on the way to Olathe, he couldn’t even remember the last thing he ate. His stomach gnawed at him, and he was quick to write off his previously labeled “weird feeling” as merely his tummy beginning to digest itself. 

 

He wandered the streets immediately surrounding the bus stop, looking for nowhere in particular. Honestly, he was just glad to be this much closer to not worrying about anyone looking at him funny. Rounding a corner, he was met with the unexpected sight of an easily-overlooked bar with a hanging sign reading “Harvelle’s Roadhouse” in worn letters.

 

Brows creased, he stood staring, making absolutely sure he was reading the name correctly. How did he not know the Harvelle Roadhouse was right here? Although Jo was discreet in discussing her mom’s business, everyone knew in the backs of their minds that she helped out. It wasn’t a topic of discussion at Dean’s house, as his father had nothing kind to say about drunkards and those who would “perpetuate the disease of alcoholism” and he didn’t talk smack about his members at the dinner table.

 

He looked the old, wooden door up and down before swallowing hard, still undecided on whether he would enter. He glanced back at his surroundings, where people walked the sidewalk nonchalantly. With anonymity granted by an unfamiliar place, nobody gave a single care whether the preacher’s boy stepped foot into a bar. To each person walking by, he was nobody. It was refreshing. 

 

After a long minute of deliberation, Dean pushed the door open. The inside was a plain setting of mostly glossy finished wood and a few geographically-relevant decorations. It smelled of leather, grill smoke, and beer, a strange blend Dean never knew before but didn’t find it unpleasant. The restaurant fit a couple dozen tables, which was more than he expected from the outside looking in, but the vast spread of alcohol behind the bar is where the roadhouse held its appeal. 

 

Shelf after shelf, bottles were arranged beautifully, their shine accentuated by recessive lighting. A woman stood behind the counter wiping a tall glass with a white dishcloth, who Dean supposed to be Jo’s mom. He thought he spotted Jo slipping into the ladies’ restroom with a broom and dustpan, but the real sight to behold was a man lying on his side upon the bar.

 

His snoring could be heard all the way from the squeaky front door. He was facing away, giving Dean an eyeful of his scraggly mullet and glaring buttcrack. Tearing his eyes away from the unsightly form spread across a surface people ate off of, Dean clicked the door shut, earning the attention of the woman behind the counter.

 

“Sit where you like, darlin’,” she urged before doing a double take. “Well, I’ll be darned.” She set down the glass and slung the towel over her shoulder. “Good morning, Dean. What brings you all the way down here?”

 

Ellen saw Dean irregularly, as she was under contractual obligation to attend an occasional church service in order to keep Jo in school. Even so, it was hard not to be recognized by anyone who attended services more than twice a year. For some reason, the thought of a rebellious bar owner seeing him felt less threatening than someone with a vocation of “godlier” connotations.

 

As he approached the bar, he could clearly make out that it was, in fact, Ellen Harvelle. The subtle lighting and casual clothes threw Dean for a loop at first, since the few times he saw her were in the severe lighting and pompous clothing of Sunday morning.

 

“Hey, Mrs. Harvelle,” he greeted with a skittish smile. He lifted himself into a bar stool, not at all familiar with the way he felt like he could topple off at any moment. How did people who were actually drunk stay on these things? 

 

“Can I get you something? Non-alcoholic, of course,” she added with a wink. “I know you’re not quite old enough for that, yet. Plus, I think your daddy might have some words for me.”

 

Dean looked down and huffed out a flimsy laugh. “He doesn’t know I’m down here. Be best if he never knows, in fact. But not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.” He could tell by her puzzled look that she thought he was referring to keeping his reputation above reproach. “I’m kind of… sort of… trying to avoid him. And come to think of it, he wouldn’t look for me here, so I guess I ended up at the right place. Do you sell burgers, by any chance?”

 

The strange salutation froze Ellen into a state of shock, but a reference to their food pulled her back to reality. “Lord have mercy, where are my manners? Ash, order up.” Glancing over at the passed out cook, she whipped the corner of the dishtowel across his rear end. “Ash!”

 

Ash jumped up with a snort, nearly falling off the counter. He swiveled around, his matted locks of 1980s glory gracing his shoulders as his eyes darted across the room. After spotting Dean, he turned up a toothy smirk and belched.

 

“Buenos dias, bitches,” came the first words out of his mouth. 

 

So this was Ash. Dean blinked at the rough introduction, suddenly realizing why Jo hardly ever mentioned him. Although they never had the distinguished pleasure of meeting, Dean felt familiar enough to know him after so many years of knowing Jo. How were they related, again? Siblings? Cousins? It didn’t matter, because in that moment, Dean took back everything he ever said about Jo being like Ash.

 

“Go make Dean a burger, please hon,” Ellen repeated. After Ash yawned and swung open the door to the kitchen, she filled a glass with ice and lemonade and set it before Dean. “You’re trying to avoid your dad? Don’t get me wrong, this is the perfect place to do it. But, why?”

 

“Long story short,” Dean sighed as some pans clashed in the kitchen, “my dad and I aren’t on the friendliest of terms, and I have no interest in returning his calls.”

 

“Then that’s it, he has no right to try and boss you around,” she concluded with a clipped shrug.

 

Ellen was a bit rough around the edges, but Dean liked her. He could appreciate her no-nonsense mentality, but she was still missing some pertinent details.

 

“In theory,” he agreed before taking in half the glass in one gulp.

 

“You’re eighteen, ain’t ya? Jo, didn’t you say Dean turns nineteen next month?”

 

She didn’t address her daughter with a raised voice, which Dean took to mean Jo was standing nearby. He turned in his stool to see her sitting at one of the tables, leaning on her elbows. She nodded yes.

 

“Hey Jo,” Dean greeted. Boy, was she as quiet as a mouse when she wanted to be. The girl could be a sniper if she could sneak from the bathroom to the front of the restaurant undetected, and not even in stealth mode.

 

“Hi,” she replied courteously before looking down at the table.

 

“It’s okay honey, he ain’t here to judge us,” her mom consoled her. 

 

When Jo responded by looking up curiously, Dean took the explanation upon himself. “Remember that ‘thing’ Lisa told you about a week ago? About me?”

 

“Yeah, I remember. Is this about that?”

 

“Yeah, my dad won’t stop chasing me. I’m going out of town for the day, just to throw them off my trail.”

 

“Okay, I’m lost,” Ellen interjected.

 

“Were you at church on Sunday?” Dean asked.

 

“Not this time. I was tied up here. Ash burnt a hole in the stove.”

 

“I’m uh, not even gonna ask. Back to the ‘thing’... Dear ol’ Dad put out an EPB on me in front of the whole congregation after he caught me kissing a dude.”

 

Ellen looked past Dean, blinking wildly at her daughter. “That whole sentence was a wild ride. Did you know about this, Jo?”

 

“Yeah, Lisa texted me after he ran away. She said not to tell anyone.”

 

“Oh, alright,” she responded understandingly. “Thank you for telling me, Dean. And just for the record, I’m no stranger to keeping customers anonymous. Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

“And me,” Ash’s voice boomed as he strutted into the dining room with a tray full of food. He slid the plate directly in front of Dean, obviously a well-practiced trick. “You the preacher’s kid, right?”

 

Dean snatched up the burger, too hungry to be bothered with manners. “Yep,” he mumbled before taking the first delicious bite. 

 

He was starting to hate being referred to that way. And not just a low-simmering, roll-your-eyes hate. The label sent chills up his spine and bile up his throat. It was more than an identity he didn’t want; it was a constant tie that bound him to a legacy of everything that was wrong with his upbringing. With the title came an expectation, a standard that he would never fulfill, and had no plans of doing so. He was so out in left field by the time he was in junior high, he could’ve been excommunicated just for his stance on dress standards. 

 

Truly, he couldn’t justify why his dad claimed him for this long. Dean had broken every rule in the book, on purpose, multiple times, just to make a point, and yet, John drew the line at homosexuality. Even if the pastor’s teachings held water, Dean knew for a fact, from the very book that cried “abomination”, that there existed far greater sins than his. And yet, it wasn’t rape, murder, or even idol worship that branded him, but rather, a part of himself.

 

What if having green eyes, with which he was born, was a sin? What if every person he knew during his whole life patted him on the head and kept complimenting his beautiful  _ brown  _ eyes? What if, one day, he looked in the mirror for the first time and was shocked to discover that his eyes weren’t brown at all, and all those people were too absorbed in their own affairs to even notice his true eye color? What if a few  _ had  _ noticed, but insisted that his eyes were brown anyway? What if he used colored contacts, trying to hide who he truly was, but knowing in his heart it wasn’t so?

 

Being shamed for a piece of yourself seemed like such a silly thing. And yet, here he was, all the while carrying the burden of his father’s name upon his shoulder.

 

“So basically,” Ash continued. “You’re in a cult.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed, taken aback by the abrupt suggestion.

 

Ash leaned over the counter, motioning with his hands. “It’s like this, compadre. Your daddy’s set up a very specific set of rules so God will like you more, am I right?”

 

“Pretty much,” Dean shrugged after a bite of three fries.

 

“Ladies in skirts, no movie theaters, no drinking, no smoking… Stuff they preached against the hippies in the sixties, right? Oh, and he was pretty skeptical of Facebook for a while, wasn’t he?”

 

“Still is.”

 

“Look, man, I don’t mean to be rude —”

 

“Ash,” Ellen warned.

 

“It’s okay,” said Dean. “Whatever it is, I probably agree.”

 

“It’s just… weird,” Ash carried on, nose wrinkling in revulsion. “I’m not saying you have to drink and smoke to have fun, although Ellen’s top-shelf whiskey would make a strong case for the former.” He shot a supportive look at Ellen, who was still glaring at him tensely. “But my point is, if you’re gonna buy into religion — which I personally don’t — at least go someplace that doesn’t make you go cuckoo.”

 

There was a lot Dean could say to that. He was all too familiar with apologetics — being ready with an answer for all who question your life choices, although the case could be made that he never had much of a choice. The chapters and verses his dad would be quoting right now flashed to the forefront of his mind. It messed with his head knowing how quickly he could excuse away his upbringing using tactics spoonfed to him over the course of a lifetime. How long away from this life would it take to be free of these knee-jerk reactions? How deeply had the indoctrination gotten into his head?

 

“You can’t sin,” Ash said as he counted on fingers. “You can’t interact with sinners like yours truly. You can’t be gay. And…” He implemented the almighty  _ pause for effect _ . “...You can’t leave.”

 

Dean searched for a fallacy in his logic but found none. He took the last bite of his burger, if for no other reason than still being hungry, to avoid talking for a few more seconds.

 

“Now, the first three things are enough to knock Jesus Christ himself off the pedestal of ‘most likely to be holy enough to join the Winchester church’ —”

 

“Jesus was gay?” Jo piped up.

 

“A conversation for another time and another place, young padawan. As I was saying, those first three points are hard enough. But when a place goes Hotel California on you and won’t let you leave, that,” he emphasized while pointing to Dean, “is when you know it’s a cult. Because if you leave, they can’t control you anymore.”

 

He swallowed the last bit of his fries. Maybe Jo was right — maybe Ash was a genius. Or maybe Dean’s sorry ass was in so deep, he couldn’t even tell what was real anymore. What Ash said made sense… an obvious, stupid amount of sense that was a slap in the face after so many years of just dealing with it. But if it was true, why was Ellen still there? She came to the bare minimum services required to keep Jo in school, making her a prime candidate for breaking free.

 

“In that case, why don’t you go?” Dean directed at Ellen. “I’ve been a prisoner there since I was born, just because of my family history. You’ve got more freedom than me. What’s keeping you there?”

 

“I’ve asked her the same damn thing,” Ash mumbled as he took Dean’s plate.

 

Ellen looked down for a moment as if she never really thought about it until asked. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I guess I feel like it’s our only option.”

 

Ash paused with a new question before disappearing into the kitchen. “And who makes you feel that way, Ellen?”

 

Her eyes shot up to meet Dean’s, a wave of realization hitting her. “John Winchester.”

 

Dean fidgeted in his seat. So it was true. His dad was using manipulation tactics to not only guilt him but the entire congregation into staying. His end game was full control of hundreds of peoples’ lives, and he went so far as demanding absolute exclusion from any other institution. He did it without them even realizing it; Dean could see it in Ellen’s eyes.

 

He wasn’t the only one stuck, after all. This was a widespread thing. John was spreading fear as well as hate, and promising favor earned him loyal followers. And once someone deviated to such a degree as Dean, a paradox occurred. Not only was he shunned for falling by the wayside, but he was urged back with patronizing pity — to repent of his ways and return to the fold — so he could fall neatly back in line.

 

Away, he was abhorred. Back in the pews, he would be celebrated. They would never stop until he was back, although never again to regain poster child status. He would forever be known as the backslider, the “ex-gay”, the wayward son.

 

“That does sound a bit... culty,” Dean finally said. “Son of a bitch.”

 

So absorbed was Dean in his thoughts, he almost didn’t catch the smirk and glance Ellen tossed behind him. He turned in his seat to see Jo grinning at her mom, seconds away from erupting in laughter.

 

“Did I miss something?”

 

“No,” Jo giggled.

 

“Thank heavens,” Ellen spoke up. “We were worried one of us was gonna slip up and say a swear word around you.”

 

It was Dean’s turn to let out an unexpected laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that around me. I even slipped up around my old man a few times.”

 

Ellen and Jo guffawed away the remainder of lingering tension. 

 

“We cuss like sailors in here,” Jo pointed out. “You’ll feel right at home.”

 

Dean was pretty sure that was the most words in a row he ever heard the girl say. Maybe she wasn’t eerily quiet, after all. Maybe this was just her place of comfort, where she could cut loose and not worry about offending anyone. Although it was a foreign concept to be able to carry on a full-fledged conversation with her, he liked it. She seemed nice.

 

“You guys are awesome.” He didn’t expect to broaden his network of level-headed people on the way to Olathe, but it was a nice surprise. “And I want to do something about my dad’s power trip, I really do. But for now, I really should be on my way.”

 

Before he could lay a ten dollar bill on the counter, Ellen shoved his hand away. “Don’t you dare. It’s on me today. As for going out of town, why don’t you hang with us for a while? You can hide in the break room.”

 

Dean would usually put up a fight on receiving free stuff. But he was overwhelmed and tired and not currently earning money, so he digressed. “I appreciate that. I don’t wanna be a bother, though.”

 

“We got wifi.”

 

“Oh, hell yes,” Dean accepted gladly, sliding off the stool.

 

“Password’s on the fridge, written on the back of a receipt,” Jo informed him, but not before he was already halfway to the “employees only” door.

 

The break room was small and crowded, with more stainless steel beer drums on and around the table than on the shelves. The fridge sported a couple of Christmas cards, the receipt Jo mentioned, and the roadhouse’s business card. Too nosy for his own good, Dean cracked the fridge open to see a half-consumed case of water bottles and a jar of ghost pepper sauce that looked hot enough to cause bodily harm.

 

Sitting down in front of his phone screen was a luxury Dean no longer took lightly. After email and social media, he settled in amid the texts he had missed since the bus ride. Sam sent him a funny story about what happened in science class, Mom asked if he was okay, and Lisa wrote a very long note apologizing for what happened that morning. He answered them all, then sat back and thought about the research topic awaiting him.

 

He wasn’t sure he was mentally ready to continue searching for the spell while still hot with anger towards Cas, but the opportunity to sit quietly for hours on end might not come again for quite some time. Picking up where he left off, he searched the witch blogs until he came across one he faintly recognized. It was strange seeing it again after all this time, but it gave him a warm flare of nostalgia as he recalled the first night he magickally summoned Cas.

 

He toted the Ouija board all the way home after that teen shut-in. He hid it under his bed, unable to get thoughts of the blue-eyed incubus out of his mind. Common sense took over before he placed his hands on the planchet, advising him to do some research before blindly calling out to the board and hoping that particular demon out of a countless horde would respond. 

 

Instead, he dug around on the internet, where he found a plethora of advice for summoning demons. Most of it was garbage, he found after comparing ingredients, and he was on the tenth search results page before he found a reputable recipe requiring simple ingredients his mom kept at home. The blogger’s name was simply “Rowena” according to her bio, and he found her humble site to be masterfully informative and grossly underutilized.

 

It was her spell that brought Cas back to him one night in the church basement. Now Dean had rediscovered her blog. Several minutes of scrolling revealed dozens of oddly specific recipes, such as bird bone enhanced astral projection and banishing some seriously heavyweight curses. Amongst these, Dean was ecstatic to find the exact spell he needed, for the second time on her site.

 

The spell consisted of a relatively straightforward list of ingredients needed for demon to human soulbond, along with the necessary incantations. Victorious at last in his quest, he took a screenshot of the list, as well as bookmarked the page. He began reading the post over and over when he noticed a small blurb at the end with an asterisk. His heart sank.

 

_ *Must be completed by experienced witches only. xoxo _

 

What the hell made them so special? He could throw twigs and blood into a jar as well as any chick on a broomstick. Besides, he had done witchy shit before when he summoned Cas with Rowena’s own recipe. Surely that counted for something. He wasn’t really “inexperienced”, per se.

 

Dean grumbled as he tossed his head back in aggravation. He could do it… he was pretty sure. Deep within, he knew “pretty sure” wasn’t going to cut it in something as serious as an eternal bond between a human and incubus soul. This gig involved changing the fabric of Cas’ being, transforming him into human form and giving him mortality. The more Dean thought about it, the heavier it sounded.

 

A short glance at the top of the page showed a button that allowed the blogger to receive private messages. He opened up a new message, unsure of what to send. Rowena might not respond to messages. Rowena might not have been active since 2012. Rowena might curse anyone who bothers her.

 

_ Hey, I have a random question _ , Dean typed before promptly pressing down on the backspace.  _ Hello, my name is Dean, I’m a big fan of  _ — No, no no, how lame is that?  _ I’m a longtime fan of your blog and I have questions _ . Dean deleted it. He was at a loss. How the hell does one start a conversation with the witch that’s partially responsible for a relationship?

 

_ A few months ago I used ones of your spells to summon an incubus. Long story short, we’re in love and we want to complete the soulbond. I found your spell, but I don’t know any experienced witches. If you have any recommendations near Lawrence, Kansas, please respond. Thank you, I enjoy your blog. _

 

Dean sent the lengthy message apprehensively. He closed out the web browser and chewed on a nail, thinking through all the things with which he could occupy his time while he gave Rowena a chance to see his request. As much as the thought made him groan, he really needed to get in touch with Cas, so he pressed his name and waited.

 

Four rings. Voicemail greeting.

 

“Cas, if you’re being a little bitch about earlier, just stop,” Dean blurted on a split-moment decision to leave a message instead of hanging up. “Call me back when you get this. It’s important.”

 

The whole thing with him not answering was really starting to piss him off. Cas never left him on read. He would always text back, call back, whatever, as soon as he got a spare minute. Either he was engaged in an hours-long orgy, or something was wrong. Dean didn’t want to think about that. He opened his messages and typed away.

 

**< < If you’re trying to punish me with the Silent Treatment, don’t even start with me. Stop being dramatic and pick up the damn phone.**

 

Dean looked at his two texts, one from this morning and one just sent, and tried to calm the worry arising from their unread status. Try as he might to stop the thoughts, to convince himself it was a mental tactic Cas was using to mess with him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. His stomach felt all wrong. Every once in a while, a flash of light or dark mass would flicker across his mind. Mostly blurry, without distinct shape. It creeped him out, like he was seeing a hazy, opaque projection from someone else’s eyes.

 

Shaking his head and squinting hard to clear his head, he tentatively checked for a response from Rowena. If that proved unfruitful, he would go right into his next order of business: taking down his dad’s empire, brick by brick. How to Overthrow a Dictatorship 101 wasn’t exactly a subject at school; he knew he was starting from scratch on this one. He needed to be smart, ensure his family’s safety, and en masse a following large enough to cause John Winchester alarm.

 

His eyes widened at the phone screen. It seemed mutiny would have to wait another day.

 

Rowena had messaged him back.


	17. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s visit to the Roadhouse ends with a reply from Rowena, but still no word from Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, kids.

_ Your interest in my work is flattering. I must say, hearing what a deep relationship you two have grown in just months is shocking, to say the least, but I do express my congratulations.  _

 

_ In response to your question, aye, I do know someone who can help you. But you must understand how gravely serious this bond is. Before I refer you to the witch of my choosing, I need assurance from both of you that this is, indeed, the decision you want to make. I mean no disrespect, but it usually takes years for couples to reach decisions adjacent to this (marriage and various other commitment ceremonies).  _

 

Dean read Rowena’s message over and over, his smile growing with every word. It was really possible. Someone alive on planet earth could perform the bonding ceremony for him and Cas. By the fourth time reading it through, he was laughing with glee. Rocking in his chair, he beamed through an overjoyed chuckle and sent Cas another text.

 

**< < Ok I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I FOUND THE SPELL. and and AND… I found someone who’s going to help us! GOING TO THE CHAPEL, BABY!**

 

He could hardly contain his excitement. Grinning like an idiot, he stared into space, head swimming with scenarios in which he and Cas were together and everything was fine. Domesticity wasn’t something he anticipated fantasizing about, but Cas made it easy. Cas flipping pancakes in boxers. Cas kissing him goodbye as he leaves for work — a consensual one with reasonable hours, not sex trafficking — and Dean sneaking a note into his lunch cooler saying all the things he wants to do to him later. Watching TV, grocery shopping, slapping his ass in public and getting weird looks from people. It was all so boring and ordinary, and Dean couldn’t wait.

 

And Cas was ruining the mood by refusing to text back. Asshole. Dean debated calling him again, not wanting to look like a desperado, but he was pretty sure he’d implode if he kept quiet.

 

“You are really something, you know that?” he chuckled after the voicemail beep. “I need you to get back with me ASAP. This chick needs approval from both of us before she sets us up with the friendly neighborhood witch. Bye.”

 

Dean was still mad as hell at him, and the news wouldn’t negate what Cas had done. In fact, Dean had to take that into consideration. Was Cas the sort of person he could spend eternity with, all things considering? Dean didn’t want to make mountains out of molehills, but this seemed like a pretty fucking big molehill. Even so, he would allow Cas the courtesy of explaining himself, even if it ended up being a shitty excuse.

 

But he was so damn happy at the moment, he couldn’t help but picture them getting past all this. He wanted to believe, oh so badly, that everything would be okay, and they’d kiss after the completion of the spell like the end scene in Cinderella, riding off in their carriage. He wanted to introduce Cas to his friends and show him off like the goddamn helpless romantic he was. 

 

He wanted to be the one giving Cas his long list of “firsts.” Not only the obvious — popping his cherry and giving the best blowjob Dean could muster up — but the little things humans took for granted. Driving lessons. Going to get a haircut. Applying for a library card. Roller coasters.

 

Dean predicted that Cas would love roller coasters. It was one of the closest human equivalents to flying. He would want to ride the tallest, fastest one in the park, right off the bat, and given all his experience soaring through the veil and getting tossed around by summoning turbulence, he couldn’t even get sick. It was going to be all kinds of awesome.

 

For the first time since he got there, Dean glanced at the clock and realized he needed to leave if he wanted to arrive at Rufus’ gym on time. He didn’t want to go. Ellen and Jo were nice, and so was Ash, in his own way. Finding his best hiding place as an extension of the shy girl was an event he didn’t expect, and he silently vowed to never underestimate her again.

 

Poking his head out of the back room to see the restaurant abuzz with activity, he scanned each table to make sure nobody would recognize him. To his relief, they were all strangers, including the few day drinkers at the bar. Jo walked by with a tray full of food but called out to him as she passed.

 

“We have a backdoor too, if you’d rather use that.”

 

Dean appreciated the offer, but he felt safe enough exiting through the front. Ellen was on a stepstool, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf, but she nodded her goodbye to Dean once he caught her eye. After a couple of steps, a hand on his shoulder startled him, but it was only Ash.

 

“When you start this revolution, call me,” the mullet-sporting man requested. Over his regular clothes was an apron, splattered with barbeque sauce and something white that Dean sincerely hoped was icing. “I’ll be there to teach cult recovery class.”

 

The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up. “And what’s the name of class, exactly?”

 

“Logic and reasoning.”

 

An eyebrow arched of its own volition. “You know what? Deal.”

 

“And I promise, I won’t bash y’all’s religion. Even though I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. I don’t know how you do it. You get treated like this, and still have faith?”

 

Dean’s smile fell. Throat feeling suddenly dry, he swallowed hard and crossed his arms. He briefly looked down before meeting Ash’s skeptical gaze.

 

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

 

It was painful to admit. For all the time spent in devotion to this deity, for so many promises that prayers would be answered and Dean’s best interests were in mind, for all the talk of rewarding fidelity, the man upstairs sure was being awfully quiet. Were all those prayers just talking to himself, after all? Was the “feeling” everyone credited to his presence really just a chemical response to heightened emotion? Did somebody just make all this up?

 

It was a notion Dean was not mentally prepared to face, so he pulled himself back into the present and let out a weary sigh. When he looked around, Ash was nowhere to be seen. The guy was probably overdue to drop some fries anyway, so he couldn’t hold it against him. Not wanting to leave Rufus hanging again, Dean excused himself and made his way to the bus stop.

 

His trip down was a breath of fresh air. The same couldn’t be said for the trip back up to Lawrence. The other passenger squashed against him had a cat — at least, he was pretty sure it was a cat… Maybe it was a very scraggly dog — making Dean sneeze with its constant shedding. Awful as it was, having his nose clogged with phlegm was preferable to smelling the putrid woman who kept petting the thing.

 

He distracted himself with a game on his phone, then messaged Rowena back. He wanted to wait until Cas called back so he could have both yeses, but he didn’t want to leave her hanging. In a few words, he thanked her and let her know he’d get back with her as soon as his incorrigible incubus boyfriend got back with him. It felt good being able to talk freely about his soulmate being a demon, even if it was with a stranger on the internet. 

 

The ride up was so uncomfortable, he actually looked forward to his spot on the gym floor. As soon as he was alone, he would strip down and toss his laundry in the washer. He really wasn’t in the mood for cleaning ellipticals and locker rooms, but he needed the money and he was absent last night, so Rufus would probably appreciate it. Speaking of money, he called up Bobby on the way to let him know he’d be back to work tomorrow. Life’s busy when you’re a fugitive.

 

Unspeakably glad to be away from humans, Dean released the tension in his shoulders as Rufus locked him into the gym. The old man told him he would see his granddaughter for Christmas and something about his garden pansies doing poorly this year. It wasn’t until Dean was naked and washing off the last of the bus’ allergens when he realized how late in the year it was. 

 

Soon the next semester would begin. Ms. Rosen would find a new student to single out for her you-weren’t-listening-questions. Chuck would be distributing graded papers, dropping folders, and chaperoning teen activities. Ketch would probably be stalking gay porn and dating apps, under the radar, of course.

 

The winners for the top ten trip would be announced. Sammy would make it, for sure. Brother Zeke probably never got back with Jo about the dates and location, passive-aggressively trying to exclude her from the trip, even if she happened to qualify this time around. Jo probably knew it, too.

 

His mom would make breakfast casserole on Christmas morning and the three of them would open presents. Dad would read Luke chapter 2 and the Campbells would call on Facetime, wishing everyone well and watching Sam open the gifts they sent in the mail. It would be exactly like it was every other year… minus one.

 

Dean shoved the thought far away, focusing instead on scrubbing every molecule of cat gunk off his body. For the first few minutes, he sneezed as the steam cleared out his sinuses. The warm water was soothing against his red, swollen eyes. The only thing that would make it better was Cas’ touch, but he was still angry, so he didn’t want to think about that.

 

He didn’t want to think about Cas running his fingers down his back, claws slowly extending. He didn’t want to think about the hot shower stream hitting their skin, mixing their scents, loosening their muscles. Wandering hands. Parting lips. Pulling hair. Moaning each others’ names. What absolute heaven it would be to hold Cas again, but he didn’t want to think about it.

 

Dean wrapped his fingers around his cock, eyes fluttering shut to imagine himself encased between Castiel’s beautiful lips. A moan escaped from deep within his throat. Already thrumming with need, his length filled within a few long pulls, and Dean thrust into his hand. Cas looked so pretty down on his knees with a mouthful of his cock. He squeezed harder as his tip dipped into his fist, imagining the wet, smooth tongue that so skillfully worked him over. 

 

He was no stranger to giving and receiving blowies, and yet, he had no clue how Cas did the things he did. Dean was right: the incubus really did teach him a few new tricks. Cas could make him come shamefully fast, or he could draw it out for hours. He could make Dean whine, beg, and cry. He could fuck him over and over, and at the end, Dean could still be muttering “more” under his breath.

 

But he didn't want to think about that. Dean was still pissed off. He was so pissed, he jerked into his hand madly, grunting and leaning against the tile wall as he kept one hand on himself. He gritted his teeth, breathing hard, and looked down at his cock so red and angry. He envisioned fucking Cas in the ass, so rough and dirty his fucked-raw throat wouldn’t even be able to vocalize how badly he needed Dean to let him come. 

 

He flew higher and higher in his bliss, pounding into his fist and imagining Cas beneath him. His ass would be so red and sore from the abuse, but he wouldn’t stop until tears were streaming down Cas’ cheeks and he was spurting hot white come all over himself. Then he’d pull out and yank Cas up, the whimpering, blubbering thing, and shoot his own spend all over his mate’s face and into his open mouth. He’d mark the bastard real good. The cockslut. He’d clamp his hand over Cas’ mouth until every drop of come in his mouth was sliding down his throat.

 

Blood beating throughout his whole body, Dean’s came white hot like lightning across a stormcloud, ejaculate hitting the shower wall and glazing his hands. His breathy moans echoed in the lonely locker room, and the name  _ Cas  _ slipped out more than once.

 

He finished his shower and laundry like nothing happened. Allowing himself a few minutes of guilty pleasure got Cas out of his head, for the time being. It made his rounds through the workout rooms a lot more peaceful. He wiped down each machine while thinking about nothing at all in particular, going as far as humming at some point. He even mopped the entryway floor, which was new for him.

 

He discovered an envelope bearing his name on the front desk counter. Inside, he found his wages thus far as a part-time janitor, and folded it into his front pocket, pleased with himself. Maybe he should get something for Rufus and Bobby for Christmas. He was feeling generous.

 

* * *

 

A week passed without word from Cas. A solid freaking week. Christmas was long gone, winter break was almost over — not that it made any difference for Dean anymore — and he lost count of how many voicemails he left. He was alone at work, the scare of Gordon finding him slightly lifted after so many days of good luck, scrolling through his recent texts to Cas.

 

**< < You should come to the gym tonight.**

 

**< < I don’t want sex, I swear. I just want to talk.**

 

**< < It’s been two days since my last text, I’m starting to worry. Are you ok?**

 

**< < Text back if you’re not dead.**

 

**< < idk if you’re trying to scare me or what but its working**

 

**< < Please, Cas. I’m sorry. Just call me. I need to know you’re okay**

 

**< < I miss you**

 

**< < if something happened to you i stg ill rip apart the person responsible**

 

**< < I’m going to kill whatever motherfucker hurt you. Please be okay. I can’t live without you.**

 

**< < I love you**

  
  


Lisa made good on her promise to bring her car to the master mechanic. Turns out, it was the head gasket. After replacing the costly part after hours of tediously digging one out of another car in the yard, Dean lied and told her the coolant reservoir was leaking, and that it was an easy fix. After too many thank yous, she drove off with her newly repaired vehicle, barely out of eyesight when Dean felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He had the strangest feeling on who it could be but refused to believe his gut feeling until he looked at the caller ID.

 

“No way,” he breathed, looking down at Cas’ name. He answered, despite his hands shaking with emotion. “Cas, fucking hell. It’s you.”

 

“Dean.”

 

A wave of relief washed over him at the sound of that deep, graveling voice. He doubled over the counter, a sharp exhale huffing into the phone, and he attempted to control his quivering voice as every repressed emotion from the past week washed over him.

 

“Oh my god, Cas. It’s you. Jesus fuck, Cas. Thank fucking christ. I’m… I’m really glad to hear your voice, babe. Fuck, where have you been? Did you get my calls? Texts?”

 

“May I visit your workplace and explain myself?”

 

“Hell fucking yeah you can visit my damn —” But Dean sucked in a stream of air as tears suddenly threatened his eyes. His throat closed up, ending his sentence abruptly, and he choked on the lump in his throat as hot tears ran down his cheeks.

 

Cas was alive. He was alive and he wanted to come the fuck over and talk. Fuck everything else, Cas was okay.

 

“Dean?”

 

“I’m… at… Bobby’s shop now.” Dean forced out each word with great difficulty. He took in a long breath and exhaled through his nose. “Come on over. I need to talk to you.”

 

“And I, you. There is much to discuss.”

 

Dean was crying so loudly, he didn’t even hear Cas hang up. All week he played Mr. Tough Guy, grunting bitterly after every text, pushing away every soft sentiment, only for them to resurge in his dreams. The object of his every conflicted thought finally called him back after he very nearly gave up hope. Dean heard Cas’ voice and broke. It sounded so strange after not hearing it for so long.

 

When Cas appeared in front of the counter, Dean climbed over it and threw himself into Cas’ arms. Tears trickled down his scales as Dean sobbed in the crook of his neck. Cas held him in a tight embrace, unmoving — the rock on which he needed to lean. As Dean regained control over his breathing, he ran his fingers through Cas’ dark hair, once again enjoying the feel, his smell, the sturdy presence of an ancient being enveloping him.

 

“Dean, I’m… I’m sorry.”

 

“Cas,” Dean said softly by his ear. “Cas, where the hell were you?”

 

“I’m so sorry. You must know, before anything else, that I truly am —”

 

“Shh.” Dean pulled back to look at those glowing blue eyes, now slanted with sadness. He frowned. Something was different about Cas. He seemed… broken. Something fierce and bright behind those eyes was dead. He seemed stiff, unyielding. In place of the vulnerable glow, a brazen, feral fire licked just beyond his irises.

 

Dean took a step back, unexpectedly unsettled in his presence. “Cas?”

 

The incubus climbed on the counter and crouched down. “I have many things to tell you regarding my lack of correspondence.”

 

“We’ve got nothing but time, man. I’ve gotta fill you in, too. Did you get my message about the witch and the spell?”

 

“Yes,” Cas said flatly. “My answer is yes, by the way. I wish to perform the bonding ritual with you.”

 

A blinding smile flared across his cheeks. “That's the best news I’ve heard in awhile.”

 

Cas shook his head. “Do not give your final consent yet. I still need to give context to my recent behavior.”

 

Little by little, Dean’s countenance fell. He sniffed away the last of his runny nose and cleared his throat. “Okay, whatever. Spill.” He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear what was coming, but he needed to. He just wanted everything to be okay and move on. But of course, it couldn’t be that simple. Not for a human and an incubus.

 

“After you sent me away,” Cas began with his head hung low, “I went back to hell for a new assignment. I worked for several hours, but couldn’t focus on what I was doing. Your anger, your hurt… I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head. All I could see was the way you looked at me, and I thought it was going to destroy me. I felt nothing but remorse for what I had done to you.”

 

Dean crossed back over into the space behind the counter and sat on the swivel chair. “But not for what you did to that demon?”

 

“Please do not interrupt,” Cas growled, eyes darting up to meet Dean’s. “Your disappointment in me affected every aspect of my being. I sank into shame. As your mate, I could think of nothing worse than displeasing you. It affected my mind, my spirit… my body.”

 

Dean raised a brow. “Your body?”

 

“My work,” Cas said a bit quieter. “I couldn’t keep up with it.”

 

Adjusting his position in his seat, Dean leaned forward slightly and furrowed his brows. “Cas?”

 

“I was so distraught, I fell behind in my labor.”

 

His lips blanched with dread, but he was unable to move. He was frozen in fear of what this meant for Cas. He was aware of what horrors awaited incubi who rebelled, fell short, or otherwise couldn’t fulfill their duties.

 

“I was banished to the Pit for my crimes of omission against the Order of Lilith.”

 

Dean squinted his eyes shut, gulping down another unwelcome lump in his throat, this time arising not for himself, but for his bondmate. His stomach sank. Cas only told him a little about hell’s idea of punishment, and it didn’t sound nice.

 

It was only then Dean took a good look at Cas and gasped. His scales were laden with scabs, mostly grown over, but still visible to anyone who looked hard enough. A few were still displaced, gaping open from wounds that looked like a real bitch. The cut on his face Jervis dealt was mostly healed. Raising his hand, Dean ran barely the pads of his fingers over the scars, careful not to press into his flesh and cause pain. Cas winced, but after a moment, relaxed into the feather-light touch.

 

“They restrained me and put me on display for the other prisoners to do as they willed,” Cas continued, eyes glassy with the still-fresh memory. “I was beaten, stabbed, and heckled for days.”

 

“Cas, I didn’t know —”

 

“After that, they forced me to walk into the torture chamber through a hallway paved with glass shards. As I said before, their methods are cruel and effective. After days that seemed like centuries, they released me. I came out with my mind cleared and ready to obey once again.”

 

“Is that why you look so scary?” Dean asked meekly.

 

Cas only nodded. Relieved that the wild glint in the demon’s eyes wasn’t directed at him personally, Dean struggled for something to say. Nothing seemed sufficient, after bitching about his nonresponse for days, only to find out what horrors he endured for caring about Dean’s opinion of him so much.

 

“I know how you feel about what I did to Jervis.”

 

“Cas, I know you had your reasons. And I’m sorry about what happened to you in the Pit. Seriously, I am. But I still don’t get why you…”

 

“He was assigned to me, Dean.”

 

“You might think — Huh?” Dean’s eyes opened wide, the delayed reaction hitting him like a ton of bricks. “What do you mean, he was ‘assigned’ to you?”

 

“I mean, he was put on my list. I don’t know why he was — I never know why anyone is assigned to be taken by an incubus. He just was. I have my suspicions, of course. His business practices are…”

 

“Shitty?”

 

“Perfunctory, at best. He’s been wanted across many demonic orders for quite some time. The powers that rule incubi don’t meddle in such affairs, but after he projected sexual desire, the adjacent orders urged us to take action. I don’t know any other specifics — the details of his crimes, his specific desires — all I know is, my superiors assigned me to fulfill his needs.”

 

Dean’s mind went blank. Everything he believed for the past week, everything he thought he knew about Cas’ heinous act, was a lie. His mouth fell open, wanting to say something, but his brain was at a standstill, and no words came.

 

“I had to do it, my love. I was just as unwilling of a participant as he.”

 

Leaning back in the chair, Dean gripped the armrests and bit his lip. The things he told himself about his beloved — the accusations, assumptions, and hateful thoughts — were all false. Cas was an innocent party. Which made Dean… an asshole, for one thing. How could he do that? How could he jump to the conclusion he reached so damn quickly, without even waiting to get all the information?

 

“I must admit, I enjoyed it,” Cas confessed. “He provoked your father, and by extension, hurt you. No one lays a hand on my soulmate without consequences. But I would not violate anyone by my own choosing… not even Jervis. You must know, Dean, I never desire to lie with anyone, save you. I did not ‘want’ it. I too am a victim of the system. But you were right. I did like seeing the fear in his eyes.”

 

Dean sucked in a stream of air, not sure how long he had been holding his breath, and stood up to snuggle against Cas’ crouching form. Trying not to press against his scars, he wrapped his arms tightly around his neck, breathing him in, trying not to lose it again. 

 

His mind flooded with too many recants. He was so very wrong about everything. He spoke too soon, and with piercing, hurtful words that sent Cas tumbling into despondency. Words that cut like a knife and slowed him to a halt. And through no fault of his own, Cas was cast into hell’s torture cell and cut apart until all remorse was chiseled away.

 

Another thought invaded Dean’s mind and piled on more guilt. Those aches in his gut and blurry visions weren’t coming from nowhere. The early stages of soulbond were showing him his mate’s pain. Every strike, slice, and disheartening jeer, Cas was involuntarily projecting onto him. And his stomach turned in a knot when he realized it probably went both ways.

 

“All that mean stuff I said,” Dean mumbled against skin and scales. “Not the texts; the thoughts. And the things I said out loud, directed at you. Did you feel all that?”

 

Dean was disheartened enough to even suggest he could’ve hurt Cas in that way. He could never prepare himself for the towering guilt to collapse upon him with Cas’ reply.

 

“Yes.”

 

Anything he could have attempted to say back crumbled to the ground. Rigid against Cas’ body, Dean relinquished himself to the mercy of the much stronger creature. Self-hatred burned within. He did this to Cas. Those scars on his body were his fault. The predatory undertow in his stare, the state of absolute obedience to the Order of Lilith —  that was Dean’s doing. The past week of radio silence was his fault. Everything was his fault.

 

“Christ, Cas. After all that, you still wanna bond with me?”

 

His voice was hoarse from previously crying, but made worse by his dry throat, from going so long without re-wetting it with a swallow or sip of water. How could Cas come back from that and still be on board with the plan? He couldn’t understand it.

 

“Of course,” came the gentle reply as he carded his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I still love you, Dean.”

 

“Why? I’m the worst.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“I would,” Dean argued, pulling away and darting an irritated look. “I’m responsible for all this.” He gestured wildly at everything, including Cas’ torn flesh and scales. “I’m literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

 

Cas slid off the counter, onto his feet. “That’s not true. You are a very good thing. That’s not to say you aren’t prone to misunderstandings. Humans are not infallible. But you are truly good, Dean, in a world that is overrun with so much evil. You might not be perfect, but you are not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. On the contrary, you are the best thing.”

 

Dean’s lip turned up delicately. “That mean you forgive my sorry ass?”

 

Smiling through a set of fangs, Cas leaned in close to Dean’s ear. His breath tickled. A chill ran down Dean’s spine at the sultry touch he craved for so long. 

 

“Let me show you how thoroughly I forgive you, Dean Winchester.”

 

The fire he knew so well sparked low in his abdomen. “Oh, hell yes.” 

 

In the next second, Dean was lifted off the ground and shoved into the swivel chair. Cas kept moving forward, not stopping until the chair bumped against the wall. Taken by surprise, Dean gripped the armrests and awaited Cas’ next move. How he missed this. He would not soon grow tired of being tossed around by this powerful creature.

 

Cas crawled into the chair, straddling Dean’s lap. Grinding his hips down, he pressed their bodies together as if starved for it, and a grin crept across Dean’s face. It had been way, way too long. He squirmed in his seat, willing himself to thrust upward, but Cas pinned him down too perfectly. If he was moving, it was because Cas allowed it.

 

“Cas,” he rasped, tilting his head back in hopes of meeting a pair of sinful lips. “Store’s open… Someone could… walk in.”

 

After glancing at the front door, Cas faced Dean and smiled against his mouth before claiming him with the filthiest kiss Dean ever had the pleasure of receiving. Cas laid his whole mouth over Dean’s, not waiting until the human beneath him opened wide before invading with his tongue. Sinking into the chair, Dean surrendered to every lick and suck, his dick straining against layers of clothes and friction from above. 

 

A kiss from Castiel could range from romantic to raunchy, and this one was a solid eleven. He gave no heed to Dean’s need for air, nor inability to keep up with his swift, provocative motions. Cas was devouring him, and it only stirred Dean up more.

 

Playfully nipping at the corners of Dean’s mouth without breaking skin, Cas earned several short gasps and breathy moans while worshipping the face below. He sucked his bottom lip, letting it go between his pointed teeth before going back for more. It was brutal and raw and unbidden, and Dean couldn’t get enough.

 

Before he knew it, Cas was moving down, stepping off the chair and nibbling at his neck in short, harmless pecks. He looked down to see Cas on his knees, making quick work of Dean’s button and zipper. He couldn’t help but lean back and groan in reverie, knowing what Cas could do with that mouth.

 

When the first long stripe of tongue ran up his shaft, Dean’s eyes rolled back, mouth falling wide open. “Cas,” he moaned. Cas responded with a light suck beneath his head, punctuated with a puckered kiss. That was it. He was a goner. “Ah, fuck… Cas.”

 

The hot wetness of Cas’ mouth enveloping him ignited every nerve, leading straight to his dick. He grabbed onto Cas’ hair and bucked up, fucking his face while making the most vulgar grunting noises. Looking down, he couldn’t help but smile. Now that’s what dreams were made of.

 

Cas’ pink lips were stretched tightly around his cock. Dean’s shaft moved them slightly in, slightly out, as he thrust. He could feel his tip hitting Cas’ throat, and the thought of shooting his load into that gorgeous mouth made his head spin. Cas swallowed around him, adding more tightness and knocking the wind out of Dean. He was sure he saw stars. He was flying, with the world far below and Cas as the light of his life.

 

Yeah, definitely stars.

 

“You take my cock so well, Cas,” Dean praised, moving his hips in time with Cas bobbing up and down. He carded his fingers through Cas’ hair before holding his head down and aggressively jerking upwards. Without being pinned down, moving his hips was a piece of cake.

 

“Gonna come in your mouth. Gonna fuck your throat raw.” He looked down to see Cas’ eyes flare with arousal. “You like that, huh? You like me working your lips wide open with my cock?”

 

Cas dug his claws into Dean’s thighs. Dean stood up, pushing Cas’ head back until he popped off, a long string of spit mixed with precome strung from his mouth. He tilted Cas’ head up with his thumb and forefinger.

 

“You have such pretty lips.” 

 

Looking up, Cas just about did him in with the desire that flashed across those entrancing eyes. Dean hummed as he ran his thumb across Cas’ bottom lip, still slick from saliva.

 

“Now put ‘em to good use,” Dean ordered as he pulled Cas’ head forward. Both of them knew how close he was. Cas took in his entire length, nose bumping Dean’s lower abdomen, sucking all air from his cheeks. Cas’ mouth was a dream come true — nothing but a perfectly smooth channel for Dean’s carnal need.

 

His grip on Cas’ hair bordered on ruthless, one fist full of hair and the other holding his head against his pelvis as he repeatedly filled Cas’ mouth. Dean’s breath was ragged, knees weakening as all his bodily energy concentrated to his dick. A broken groan escaped him. He held Cas’ head still, doubling over as he came. 

 

“Fuck!” Dean screamed as stream after stream shot into that gorgeous mouth. “Cas, fuck! Shit… Cas, you are… fucking… Your mouth… My god, fuck…”

 

A trickle of come trailed down the corner of Cas’ mouth. He pulled off only after Dean began softening, giving a pleased smile at how completely blissed out Dean looked post-orgasm. The red in his cheeks camouflaged most of his smaller freckles. Sweat glistened on his upper lip.

 

Dean leaned on the counter while attempting to catch his breath. He couldn’t help the animalistic sense of possession from seeing his spend dripping down Cas’ face. After getting his boyfriend back from the Pit, it was only right to set the record straight. That incubus was his. And in a few short words and drops of blood, he would be all his.

 

Cas situated Dean back into his pants, complete with button and zipper. Before he could stand back up, Dean made a shushing sound and put his finger to his lips. Nodding, Cas made himself as small as possible behind the counter, listening as the bell signaled someone’s arrival. He smelled the come on his chin and wiped it off.

 

“Chuck,” Dean said with surprise. Two visits in less than two weeks. Should he be concerned?

 

“Good evening, Dean,” Chuck replied cheerfully. “Did you have a good holiday?”

 

He wasn’t sure if he should be completely honest or not. Chuck Shurley was the type to listen to anyone’s rant, just to let them get it out of their system, but Dean wasn’t the type to, well, rant. Besides, he didn’t want to spoil the guy’s jolly mood.

 

“It was fine,” he lied, thinking instead of the short visit with his family instead of actual Christmas day. “How’s that lightbulb treating you? Or did you need me to take a stab at it?”

 

“Huh? Oh that,” Chuck said with a laugh. “I figured it out. It was pretty easy.”

 

Dean forced a smile amid narrowed eyes. Before coming out from behind the counter, he glanced down to double-check his zipper. “So, what can I do for you today?”

 

“Actually, nothing.” Chuck put his hands in his pockets and tightened his lips.

 

The pause threw Dean into a panic. This was it. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men were about to gallop in and take him away. Legs turning to lead, he halted mid-stride, fearful of going any closer to the front door.

 

“I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

 

“You can cut the crap, Chuck,” Dean shut it down right away. He had people making sure he was alright. His mother sent him two care packages since he left home, all containing comfort items that made his time away less awful. Bobby was giving him more hours, some days only coming in to cover his break and garage time. Rufus bought him a pillow.  _ A pillow _ . The Harvelle Roadhouse was a regular stop since it was further out than any of his acquaintances traveled.

 

Whatever Chuck was selling, Dean was not buying.

 

“Okay, you’re right. I’m here to see if you’ve thought about my idea at all.”

 

Dean’s eyes darted off to the side, accessing the memory. “Your idea for me to start a mutiny?”

 

The shrug and uneasy shift in footing was a dead giveaway, but Chuck nodded anyway, for clarity’s sake.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay? I’ve thought about it.”

 

“And?”

 

Glaring down at the shorter man, Dean thought about asking him to leave. Hot anger spread throughout his limbs, and he looked over at a display tire, sincerely considering chucking it at him. One thing he was finding out about himself was, he didn’t appreciate people pushing their agendas on him, no matter how aligned they were with his. It was like assigned reading. As soon as someone else told him to do it, the interest was gone.

 

“And I’m still thinking about it, Chuck. Just… let me deal with it.”

 

“That’s fine,” he assured while lifting placating hands. “I was just asking.”   
  


“Yeah? Well, quit it.”

 

The snap momentarily silenced Chuck, which gave Dean some time to cool down. Right now, he didn’t know if the warmth in his face was residual from the orgasm or newly flushed from being ticked off, but he had an educated guess. Chuck was playing a dangerous game, poking him with a proverbial stick, whether he knew it or not. Dean had enough to worry about without a teacher’s aide breathing down his neck on extracurricular activities.

 

“Let me ask you something,” Dean piped up with a pointed finger. “And I need you to be one hundred percent square with me.”

 

Visibly terrified, Chuck nodded viciously.

 

Maybe it was the increased blood flow that jogged his memory, but Chuck’s curiosity and nosiness brought him back to an event so obscure, he couldn’t help but bright it to light again. And this time, he was going to get the truth. He had him cornered this time.

 

“What did you mean by ‘group project’?”

 

He chuckled nervously. “Excuse me?”

 

“When you saw me and Lisa leave the lunchroom together, you told my dad we were working on a group project. When I asked you about it, you started acting weird. You wanna try that again?”

 

“I, uh… I…”

 

“Chuck,” Dean warned. “No lies this time.”

 

The cornered man sighed, shoulders slumping. Dean could tell by the look in his eyes that he was for real this time. “I thought you were already working on taking apart your dad’s regime. I thought you were discussing it outside… You, Lisa, and the…” He cleared his throat and barely mumbled the last word. “....the demon.”

 

“What?”

 

“The — the — demon… from the… the Ouija board.”

 

Dean blinked hard to rule out the possibility that he was hallucinating this entire conversation. “You knew about the Ouija board? That night during the teen lock-in?”

 

“Well, duh,” he laughed. “Who do you think brought it to church?”

 

Dean shook his head in disbelief. This whole day was going to make his head explode. He thought back to that night. It seemed so recent, and yet, so far away. Nobody knew how the damn board got there. Chuck was “asleep” in the corner the whole time. He was the only male chaperone. Slowly, that night as the offering started to make a lot more sense. A shudder ribboned through Dean’s bones.

 

“It was a setup?” Dean spat. “You planted the board so a portal would open?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Chuck hummed with another nod. “That church is messed up. I figured if I could break up the monotony with some classic poltergeist swag, a few people might start waking up. I didn’t know an incubus would be the one to come through, so… sorry about that.”

 

Something in Dean snapped. “Yeah? Well, the incubus and I are going steady, as a matter of fact.”

 

After the sum total of today’s twists and turns, dumping his relationship status onto Chuck was the most normal thing that could possibly happen. So, what the hell. The shy teacher’s aide threw him for a loop with not only his knowledge of the Ouija board that changed his life but the fact that he started this entire clusterfuck. The least Dean could do was throw his own plot twist into the conversation. 

 

Keeping his eyes forward, Dean watched as Chuck reacted in horror to the creature emerging from behind the counter. Cas leaped over it, displaying his wings in dominance, and prowled towards them with glowing eyes fixed on the frightened short man. Dean could feel him right behind his shoulder, his hot breath announcing his proximity.

 

“Holy moly,” Chuck’s voice cracked as he took a step back. “He’s a lot bigger close-up.”

 

Although Dean wasn’t sure exactly what gave him the sudden gall to out himself, the transparency was calming. The fact that Chuck had already laid eyes on Cas took away from the fear of introducing him. During the lock-in, while everyone’s attention was away from the chaperone, Chuck sneaked a glance at the incident from across the room, apparently. It was almost 48% cool that someone already knew about Cas, sort of, but that didn’t answer one burning question.

 

“If you’re dead set on this revolution, why’d you tell my dad about it? You mentioned the ‘group project’ to my dad, who questioned me about it. What the hell were you thinking?”

 

Chuck’s eyes bounced from Dean to Cas. “I thought you, Lisa, a-and the incubus were already coming up with a plan to overthrow him. I was trying to speak in code... I figured you knew what I meant. But then you… you asked me about it before class, and I panicked because I realized you didn’t know what the heck I was talking about. So I bailed.”

 

“You were trying to send a coded message, through my dad, about me dethroning my dad?”

 

When Chuck nodded, Dean rubbed hands over his face. What a fucking idiot. Cursing under his breath, he counted all the ways he could knock some sense into him. His anger almost got the best of him when he leaned into Chuck’s space with clenched fists.

 

“Dean,” Cas said, holding onto his arm. “He means well.”

 

“Thanks. See? Thanks,” Chuck responded gratefully. “The demon chose you, so I figured I should vouch for you for leading us all in the revolution… church split… thing. I was kinda rooting for you, anyway, just for the record. But when he singled you out, I thought, wow, you must be like, the chosen one or something.”

 

“That’s terrible logic, but okay,” Dean replied, stepping back at Cas’ touch. “You said you thought I’d make the perfect candidate because I’m the preacher’s kid.”

 

“That’s partially true, but I stand by my other point.”

 

“The other point is crap, and you are like, the worst inside man ever, but the end result is the same: I’m in.”

 

“I, as well,” Cas joined in.

 

Well, it looked like it was time for introductions. Nothing like interrupting a series of least-expected events with formalities. “Okay, well, since you’re apparently in the Cas Fan Club, I guess it’s time to officially meet him.”

 

Chuck timidly stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “It’s uh, nice to finally meet you, Cas.”

 

Stepping out from behind Dean, the looming creature shook his hand. Humans were so funny about greetings. “You as well.”

 

“It’s Chuck.”

 

“No,” Dean inserted. “Cas, don’t you dare.”

 

“I’m not,” Cas promised. “He’s undervalue, anyway.”

 

At Chuck’s perplexed head tilt, Dean clarified, “You don’t wanna give an incubus your name. Like, ever.”

 

“Ah,” he puffed, letting go of the demon’s hand with an apprehensive smile. “Does that damn my poor soul to hell or something?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Dean deadpanned at the innocent jab. “But don’t worry, Cas isn’t going to pawn you off.”

 

“Because I’m ‘undervalue’?”

 

“No, not exact—” Dean faked a smirk. “It’s nothing personal, Chuck.”

 

“Okie dokie.”

 

The three stood there, air thickening with awkwardness. What were they supposed to say after that? Cool, now that we’re all acquainted, let’s talk about the weather! What was there to discuss after what was essentially a flash flood of new information that was not only unexpected but would sound insane to anyone outside their triangle?

 

“Well, you showed me yours,” Chuck spoke up, reaching into his back pocket. “I guess I’ll show you mine.”

 

After a few taps on the screen, Chuck turned his phone towards Dean and Cas. It was him and a stout, frizzy-haired man Dean had never seen before. The sides of their faces were smushed together for the camera, but even besides that, they seemed… close.

 

Instead of any semblance of  _ Aww, what’s his name? _ ,  _ How long have you been together?  _ Or _ I’m happy for you, man _ , Dean managed to blurt out, “I thought you were with Becky Rosen.”

 

“I mean, I was, briefly. She’s a nice lady, but not really… my type.”

 

“I gotcha. You only get it up for dudes?”

 

“That’s not it at all,” Chuck clarified. “I still like girls. She’s just…”

 

“Squirrely?”

 

A high-pitched sound squeaked in Chuck’s throat as he lightly moved his head from side to side. “You could say that.”

 

Dean nodded through a comprehensive pout. “So, who is this guy?”

 

“Marv,” Chuck replied as he put his phone away. “He’s not my first boyfriend, but he’s the first one I’ve ever had to keep a secret. I haven’t been at your dad’s church for a super long time, but I don’t wanna have to hide my significant other from anyone. It’s not right.”

 

“I hear you there,” Dean concurred. This guy must be really good at keeping things to himself. Was Dean ignoring the signals, or was Chuck really that good at flying under the gaydar?

 

“If we are to disband the system Dean’s father has in place,” Cas spoke up, “we will need more than a disagreement regarding sexual orientation. Opinions can sway people, but it’s not enough. We must take apart the church from the inside.”

 

“Agreed,” Chuck said. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

 

“You?” Dean questioned with raised brows. “How?”

 

“I’ve been appointed as church treasurer,” he bragged, puffing up slightly. “I see where all the money is going.”

 

Dean left one brow arched. “You think there’s some funny business going on?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” he shrugged. “I just got the position this week. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you.”

 

“A smear campaign,” Dean summarized. “Me likey.”

 

“We’ll see. Like I said, I haven’t seen anything fishy yet. I’ve only just started. And numbers are hard. But the pastor doesn’t suspect me, so I think my odds are good.”

 

This could very well be a long road to nowhere. His dad never seemed like the type to be unfair with finances. He tithed, budgeted, and put the extras in a college fund, which now belonged solely to Sam. From where Dean stood, it looked like a dead end. Still, it helped to have a spy on the inside.

 

“Thanks, Chuck.”

 

Dean never thought he would hear himself say it, but there it was. Chuck’s eyes opened wide, taking in the acknowledgment and responding with a huge grin. Dean squinted. The poor guy looked like he would spontaneously combust any second.

 

“It’s my pleasure,” he said with a short, stiff bow. “Um, I guess I better go. Nice talking to you guys.”

 

“Uh huh,” Dean huffed. He was determined to not let his excitement get the best of him since nothing good in his life seemed to happen without an equal or greater measure of bad. After Chuck left, he and Cas returned to the space by the cash register, away from any passersby that might get an eyeful of the winged beast of terror.

 

Cas had to hide again a few minutes later when a middle-aged man came in to get a key cut, which he chose in pink camouflage. He seemed a balanced mixture of nervous and excited, and whistled a tune as he added on a pink can of pepper spray. While the man shuffled through his wallet, Dean spotted school pictures of two girls, one young with braces, and the other of which looked about old enough to get her driver’s license.

 

“Can we trust him?” Cas asked after they were alone once again.

 

“Chuck? He’s harmless,” said Dean. “He’ll probably die tripping over his own two feet, but yeah. He’s on our side.”

 

That appeared to suffice, as Cas relaxed a bit, deciding to sit on the counter facing the door. Chuck’s sudden moves and lack of social graces could be off-putting to anyone, especially a creature unfamiliar with the many nuances of human behavior, so his concern was understandable. 

 

“I’ll go ahead and message Rowena back,” Dean changed the subject. “She wanted both of our final answers before she agrees to set us up with a local.”

 

Cas’ eyes narrowed curiously. Mouth thoughtfully agape, his brows creased as the pondered the name. “She sounds strangely familiar.”

 

“Oh?” Since when did Cas have friends? Or keep track of anyone’s name whose soul he wasn’t pawning off? Dean found the browser bookmark and scrolled until he found the witch’s bio. He clicked on her picture to enlarge it. She was petite, with a head full of fiery red hair, with a snarky air about her. He held the phone up to Cas. “Do you know her?”

 

Jaw dropping, Cas’ eyes widened before snapping back up to Dean. “Not possible.”

 

Doing a double take, Dean glanced down at the inconspicuous image. Cas seemed far off in memory. It was unnerving. “Cas?”

 

“There is only one other incubus in history who has completed the blood ritual required for permanent sanctuary with a human. The ritual worked because the demon worked for years to perfect it. The two went on to live together as bonded mates. It was the perfect love story.”

 

“The first demon to bond with a human created the spell?” It made sense that the ritual only existed because someone was devoted enough to take time perfecting it, but he never considered the thought that the spell caster and first subject could be the same person. “Who’s the incubus?”

 

Cas pointed to the picture on the screen. “Her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this as a completed work (after April 10th, 2019), this is mandatory break time. Drink some water. If it’s past midnight, go to bed. 
> 
> If you’re reading this on a posting schedule, see you Wednesday! <3


	18. Save the Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean celebrate their soul binding plans in the comfort of bed sheets, fluffy pillows... and lots of swearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter warnings are smut-related only, and they're nothing crazy, but here they are anyway. If you want to be surprised, keep scrolling. Enjoy this chapter; you guys deserve it after living through chapter 17 :)
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> Power play  
> bratty!Dean  
> Multiple orgasms (no incubus juju used)

“But I thought… But she said…” 

 

Nothing was coming out right — not after every unforeseen change in reality he had faced within a few short hours. Cas did not choose to take Jervis. Cas was tortured. Chuck knew about Cas. Hell, he brought the damn Ouija board. Because apparently, Chuck wants John gone more than Dean does. Chuck has a boyfriend, not to mention an affinity for the worst code words Dean had ever heard.

 

And now, the only other incubus to bond with a human was the one to write up the recipe.

 

“She said in her blog that only a witch can do the spell,” Dean continued, dragging his finger from point to point in midair. “Does that mean she performed the spell, too? Was she a witch back when she bonded to her incubus? How did we not know about this?”

 

“The odds of an incubus and human wanting to bind their souls are astronomical. When my colleagues and I heard one of our own reached permanent sanctuary, the only talk was regarding the fact that it was with a human. Her hobbies were of no concern to those spreading rumors. Especially when one doesn’t anticipate such a miracle ever happening to them.”

 

“And when did this go down?”

 

“I met Rowena soon after I was created, nearly four centuries ago.”

 

Dean pondered it for a beat. “You told me you were old.”

 

“Four hundred years isn’t old enough for your taste?”

 

“I dunno man, I thought Lilith would’ve created all of you at once, back in the olden days.”

 

“She did not. With every incubus that perishes in the Pit, she creates another.” Cas sighed, but but there was snark behind it. “But if the age difference — or lack thereof — is such a deal breaker to you, then…”

 

“Hey now, don’t be roastin’ younger men.” Getting back on track, he left the age thing behind with a smirk. Cas being less ancient than anticipated was… strangely settling? Compared to some incubi who had survived since the Fall of Man, he would be considered an adolescent. Much like Dean. It made their difference in age less daunting. Somehow, the ground seemed more level.

 

“Moving on. How the hell is Rowena still alive?”

 

“If she’s a powerful enough witch to perform this blood ritual and succeed, she can do almost anything, including prolonging her life.”

 

“Damn,” Dean muttered. So this was it. The spell they needed was under their noses the whole time, in the very blog Dean scoured to summon Cas after their first meeting at the lock-in. Now here they were, about to commit to their forever as one. 

 

_ Both Cas and I say yes. Final answer.  _

 

He sent the message, heart quickening at the thought of an ancient sorceress supplying them with her next agreed correspondence: The witch of Lawrence. Knowing her true age changed his imagery of her, despite her young presence on the internet. He imagined her learning the craft in a secretive coven, cloaked by the forest and nightfall. Four hundred years was a long time to devote to witchcraft. She must be very powerful.

 

_ Stull Cemetery. This Sunday at 10 am. _

 

A peculiar sense of giddiness blossomed in Dean’s chest. He tried to push it down, but it just made him smile bigger. He felt like a friggin’ flower, opening up at the bright, warm rays of the sun after weeks of rain.

 

“It’s a date,” he told Cas as nonchalantly as possible. It was easy to see through his facade, but if he started hooting and hollering he might never stop. There was still so much to figure out — where they’d live, the security of his mom and brother — but as long as he could look ahead and see Cas alongside him, he could conquer the rest.

 

“Dean,” Cas began, but his voice faltered.

 

Looking deep into Cas’ eyes, Dean saw a glimmer of the old softness from before his time in the Pit. Ah, now there he was. He was in there, after all. Soon, the hardness of a seared conscience would melt away, never again to feel the abuse of forced labor and threat of torture. Dean’s heart swelled. He could do this for Cas. It was happening. Cas would be free.

 

“We’re… we’re gonna…” Dean trailed off with a breathy chuckle when Cas jumped into his space, squeezing him until he was lifted off the floor. After reaching solid ground again, Dean threw his arms around his beloved and just stood there breathless.

 

“We will be together forever.” Cas’ voice still trembled with emotion but grew stronger as he spoke. “At last, nothing will stand in our way.”

 

“You’re gonna be a free bird,” Dean said, arms only holding on tighter at the thought. “No more sneaking in through the windows, snatching people up. All your nights are gonna be spent getting pounded into the mattress by this dick.”   
  
“I look forward to it.”

 

Dean couldn’t see his face, but he knew Cas was smiling. He sighed contentedly. For all this time, it seemed like such a pie in the sky summit. It was just a dream. An impossible, romantic, keep-yourself-alive dream. But now it was real. And the feeling was so much better than he could’ve hoped and he couldn’t stop smiling.

 

It wasn’t just because he was going to have free range with Cas. Partly, yes. But that reason didn’t even begin to cover the closeness of their souls and how their love would grow exponentially as time bled into eternity. No matter what else in his life changed, this would be constant. It was the cornerstone on which he could build the rest of his life. 

 

But yeah, the sex wouldn’t hurt. 

 

Dean pulled away just enough to see Cas’ face, hands still caressing tenderly. “I’m gonna screw you so hard.”

 

Cas looked down as a bashful smirk splayed across his face. “Not until just before the ritual, though. I still have work to do this week.”

 

“Uh huh,” Dean teased, looking up through lashes framing his moss-colored eyes. He was really enjoying seeing this new side of Cas. An incubus on the receiving end of sex, it just so happened, was actually just a shy newbie. He knew all about giving, but receiving? That would be a different ballgame entirely. 

 

Cas cleared his throat, collecting himself enough to continue on the conversation without blushing. “I will continue to work until the day before the ritual. That night, we can —”

 

“Turn the tables,” Dean finished. “Yeah, I can’t friggin’ wait. You might be incubussing tonight, but just you wait, baby. ‘Cause next week, I’m the one on top.” He finished off with a flirty brow wiggle, at which Cas guffawed.

 

“Speaking of tonight.”

 

Dean’s interest was officially piqued.

 

“I think this is cause for celebration.”

 

A warm chill ran down Dean’s spine at the erotic tone in Cas’ voice. Now, there was the incubus he knew. It was going to be so much fun taking the mighty demon apart and reducing him to a blubbering, begging mess. But for tonight, that was Cas’ job. It was party time.

 

“Shop closes in ten minutes,” Dean responded, voice fluctuating at the end, followed by a very non-convincing cough.

 

Cas ran his hands over Dean’s chest, being sure to thumb over his clothed nipples and the spot near his clavicle that was so sensitive. “Am I meeting you at the gym after hours?”

 

Dean arched into the touch reflexively, breath caught in his throat at the way Cas ignited every inch of his skin on fire, even through troublesome clothes. His nipples hardened and neck prickled with the need to be touched, licked, sucked. He needed to be naked, like, yesterday. He needed Cas as soon as possible.

 

“I can’t wait that long. Fuck it, I’m getting us a hotel room.”

 

* * *

 

Dean never spent more money than necessary. There was too much on the line. Too many variables that might call for extra expenses. He might have to put up his mother and brother somewhere safe from the family patriarch. Eventually, he had to find a place for him and Cas to live. He and Cas might have to leave town for good and moving cost money. 

 

But this. They deserved this.

 

It was nothing fancy — just a place to be comfortably horizontal for a few hours. To Dean, it was the most perfect he had felt in ages. They just planned out what was essentially the demonic equivalent of a wedding, which carried more weight than its human counterpart, as death would certainly not do them part. The thought was idyllic and all-consuming, and Dean put every a sweet prayer into every kiss, hoping to convey how he felt through the threads that tied them together.

 

Cas pushed Dean onto the bed, and there he lay panting, lips red and kiss-swollen, adoring eyes fixed on his lover. When Cas climbed over him and slipped his claws under his shirt, Dean gasped at the touch he had been starved for since their last encounter. The shirt limited Cas’ movements and teased Dean to the point of shimmying down in an effort to ride the hemline higher.

 

“Impatient,” Cas chastised. He caught Dean’s scoffing lips, the human’s smart ass response melting into light hums and groans. “You’ll take — what I — give you.” He broke each couple of words with assaults on Dean’s mouth, each a little deeper than the last.

 

Once he could get a word in edgewise, Dean mumbled, “Asshole.”

 

The hotel room was dark, except for the bathroom light barely slipping in from the cracked open door. It outlined Cas and brought out the subtle lowlight of sapphire blue darkening his eyes. It was breathtaking and vaguely terrifying. Above Dean loomed a creature of darkness with horns, outstretched wings, and sharp fangs. His claws could tear a man apart and his eyes were of another world. The poor lighting accentuated his features into a bold black silhouette, highlighted by shimmering iridescent scales.

 

The intimidating beast sat up, straddling Dean while maintaining eye contact, and took two fistfuls of his shirt. All Dean could do was lie back, wide-eyed, and let it happen. He and Cas wouldn’t be in this position if either of them weren’t into it, but the reality was, there would be no fair fight against the incubus. He truly could have his way with him if he wanted, and that was just a tiny bit sexy.

 

“Are you in particular favor of this shirt?” Cas questioned.

 

“Uh…?”

 

Dean could neither confirm nor deny before Cas’ arm muscles flexed above his chest and wrenched his shirt in two. The tearing sound made Dean jump, and by the time he could register what was happening, his dick was already responding. His shirt was shred, without a prayer for repair and stray threads falling off his stomach. He could feel himself getting hard, and Cas had barely touched him.

 

When Cas dipped down and took one of Dean’s nipples into his mouth, Dean’s head was erased of all coherent thought. White flashed across his closed eyes; one word and one word only repeated across his lips — the only one that mattered. 

 

“Cas,” he chanted. “Cas… C-... Castiel…”

 

The mention of his name on his beloved’s lips made a lustful groan rumble through Cas’ throat. Dean felt it against the skin Cas was latched onto, and he squirmed against the subtle reverberations. When Cas moved up to lick the dip below his Adam’s apple, Dean squinted his eyes shut, his sense of touch heightened with the absence of sight.

 

His pants were becoming increasingly tight, and having Cas sitting in his lap wasn’t helping. Dean grabbed onto Cas’ thighs with both hands and wondered if he could slide him up and down to get the friction his dick so desperately needed. Although he couldn’t move Cas, he did get his point across. Cas noticed his efforts and grazed his pointed claws along Dean’s arms.

 

“Open your eyes,” Cas ordered.

 

After a long gulp, Dean obeyed. The sight of the unearthly creature above him, no matter how familiar, stunned him every time. Cas was simply… beautiful. He always would be, incubus or not. The limited light highlighted his strong frame and ethereal glare, and Dean began to understand why most unsuspecting sleepers were so afraid.

 

So lost was he in the moment, he didn’t hear the cling of his belt and buzz of his zipper. It wasn’t until Cas was tugging at his jeans that Dean lifted his hips for him to slip off the rest of his clothes. For their journey to the hotel room, Cas disguised himself in the clothes Dean bought him, but they came off before the two even started going at it. Hopefully, Cas would have less of an aversion to clothes once he gained a mortal soul.

 

Now completely naked, Dean wanted more than ever to knock Cas onto his back and top that fucker like icing on a cupcake. He imagined banging him on every hard surface in the room, knowing Cas could sense sexual thoughts; it was a fun way to tease him. It was working, too. Cas grumbled in frustration at the thoughts Dean projected, to which he flashed a smug grin.

 

“You like that, huh?” Dean rasped. “Bet you’ll like it even more in real life. My mouth covering every inch of your skin. My cock deep inside you. Me sucking you off. Fuck, Cas. I want your cock in my mouth so bad.”

 

“Soon, my love,” Cas consoled him, a gentle hand cradling his face but eyes wild with desire.

 

Dean shrugged casually, pointlessly hoping Cas couldn’t smell just how much blood was pulsing through his aching cock. “Guess I’ll have to make do with you inside of me.”

 

“If I listened to your incessant whining, each time would be over before you had a chance to enjoy it.”

 

“I enjoy every second with you, Cas.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Have you no patience?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Then I will teach you some.”

 

In an instant, Dean was lifted effortlessly off his back and bent over the edge of the bed, face first. Sliding on his stomach toward the floor, he caught himself, supporting his weight while Cas gripped his thighs, spread wide on the mattress. At the first innocuous nip at his inner thigh, Dean yelped and clenched his muscles. Then, another light pinch between Cas’ teeth, this time on the other leg, minutely closer to Dean’s exposed, vulnerable hole. 

 

Gravity rushed blood into his head. With every movement closer to the apex of his legs, he grew simultaneously less jumpy, yet more excited. He stopped jerking from Cas’ benign love bites, but the anticipation of what was to come kept building. Cas kept winding him up, like a freaking jack-in-the-box. Dean knew the moment would come, sooner by the second; he just didn’t know when, and it only heightened the suspense.

 

The moment Cas’ tongue licked over the tight pucker of his ass, Dean cried out, helplessly dangling by his trembling legs and all strength sucked out of his arms by the white-hot flare surging through his limbs. The wet tongue teased around the edge, coming close to violating his tight heat but only rolling over the surface. As his muscles unclenched and hole grew slick with saliva, Dean began sputtering incomplete pleas and the occasional curse, the expectancy driving his words to incoherence.

 

“Fuck yeah, Cas… Oh god, oh fuck… That’s it… Please, please… In, in, in… Go in… Please, Cas… Shit, I need… Ah, fuck. Please, I need you. I need you inside… Cas… fuck me, please…”

 

Instead of complying, Cas’ grip on Dean’s thighs tightened. His claws dug into his skin, leaving bright red marks as he dragged his fingers down. Dean hummed through the dull sting.

 

“Stop talking,” Cas demanded.

 

“Or what?”

 

With a growl, Cas released one of Dean’s legs long enough to grab Dean’s recently discarded boxer briefs. Balling it up, he stretched down to shove it into Dean’s mouth, ignoring the foiled complaining now muffled by a mouthful of fabric.

 

“There. That ought to shut you up.”

 

There he lie sprawled, suspended head down from the bedside, under the control of his lover. Though his plight was superficial, as was his griping, Dean wouldn’t dare spit the cloth out. He might be a brat, but he could still be good for Cas. Never admitting for one second how much he really, really enjoyed being put in his place, he bit down on his underwear and smiled as Cas went back to work between his legs.

 

Each ministration pressed a little harder at Dean’s hole until finally, the very tip of Cas’ tongue slipped in with ease. Dean moaned at the welcomed feeling of having something inside him, even if it was that little. He was so high-strung for it, just that small motion was a dream come true. On the next pass, Cas’ tongue delved a little deeper, and Dean whimpered.

 

So much blood was running to his head, he might not have known which way was up if his eyes weren’t open. The pleasure burning through him was so overwhelming, he lost his grip on the floor and started sliding down. Thankfully, Cas caught him in his mighty arms and held him fast, not missing a beat as he took up the added task of keeping him from falling. Dean lay there, hands limply swaying across the floor, fully at Cas’ mercy.

 

Cas thrust his tongue as deep as he could, swirling and curling inside his tight ass. A long hum, which would probably translate to “ohhh” if it weren’t for the boxer briefs occupying his mouth, escaped Dean’s throat. Plunging in and out, faster and faster, Cas ate him out, enjoying the sounds Dean made just as much as the feeling of his tongue dragging along his walls.

 

Dean was dripping, Cas’ spit trailing from his hole to his hardened balls. The incubus could smell the semen in his human’s dick, and he pulled his tongue out to toy with Dean’s balls. He put one side of his sac in his mouth, rolling it gingerly while running his fingertips over the other. Precome was dribbling onto the floor — he could practically taste it. Cas gave the same attention to Dean’s other side, then continued eating him, holding him steady with one muscular arm while fondling his balls with the other.

 

“Mmmf! Hmmmf! Mmmm,” Dean muffled with each thrust of Cas’ tongue. He wasn’t looking at his cock, but he knew it must be almost purple from stimulation. His precome collected in a milky puddle, which slowly seeped into the short carpet. Using every bit of his strength, he reached up to stroke his cock, nearly choking on a sob at the needed contact.

 

Within seconds, he was shooting his load onto the filthy hotel floor, convulsing while bent over the bed. Holding him still, Cas rode him through it, feeling his pelvic floor muscles clench around his tongue as he came. After Dean’s legs went limp, Cas slowly pulled him back up by his ankles, careful not to rush all the blood from his head at one time.

 

While Dean was still halfway between horizontal and his previous position, Cas leaned over the side of the bed. He yanked the underwear out of Dean’s mouth and tossed it over his shoulder.

 

“Have you learned your lesson?”

 

Dean’s tongue clicked the roof of his mouth a couple of times, throat dry from all his spit being absorbed by clothing. “For now,” he said hoarsely.

 

“You are irredeemable.”

 

Cas pulled him up the rest of the way. Lying back on the soft mattress, Dean relaxed as the thrumming in his head subsided. His cock, now soft, would take at least a few minutes to get it up again unless Cas laid some of his magical incubus mojo on him. After Dean’s behavior, his chances were slim, so he resorted to stalling for a while, before begging for Cas’ cock again.

 

“What order are the succubus...es? Succubuses? Succubees? Succupussies?”

 

Arching his brow, Cas laid on his side next to Dean, a wing enveloping both of them. “Succubi?”

 

“Yeah, that,” Dean replied with feigned ignorance. “Who’s their OG?”

 

Cas smiled at Dean’s continual use of strange alternative titles. “Eve.”

 

Dean furrowed his brows. “Like, Adam and Eve, Eve?” After Cas nodded, the wheels in Dean’s head started turning. “Eve’s a demon, too? Oh, shit. It was the forbidden fruit thing, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yes, she is credited for that.”

 

Dean huffed a short laugh. “More like criminalized for it.”

 

Cas looked at him directly. “Exactly.”

 

“So, Lilith refuses to lie on her back and she becomes a demon. Eve gives Adam what he wants, and still becomes a demon. Sheesh, you just can’t win, huh?”

 

“More or less.” Cas trailed his fingers lightly over the beautiful red marks he left on Dean’s legs. “She became the first succubus, and following Lilith’s example, created an army of slaves to do her bidding.”

 

“Doesn’t that make your two orders like rivals or something?”

 

Cas grimaced and shook his head. “The two orders’ grievances were always with Adam, not each other. If anything, the common enemy of mankind strengthened their alliance. It was a succubus who first made the discovery of the possibility of offspring between an incubus, succubus, and human surrogate.”

 

“So your job is to go around, stickin’ it in everything that moves because Lilith’s drug of choice is spite,” Dean concluded. “What’s the logic behind Eve’s bitches spreading eagle for everybody?”

 

“She was trying to gain favor back with Adam. She obeyed him, bore his children, and still, he betrayed her. Her creations were the fruit of a broken heart. Like the incubus, the meaning of the succubus has been lost to the sands of time. Over the ages, they have been excused as wet dreams and drug-induced fantasies. No man alive knows that each encounter is a plea for redemption from Eve herself, the same as everyone’s ignorance of an incubus visit being Lilith’s malevolence.”

 

“Holy shit,” Dean murmured. “Our boy Adam sounds like a real piece of work.”

 

“And yet, he is hailed so highly by so many.”

 

“Makes me even more glad I chose your side. If I went to heaven and met the guy, I’d probably kick him in the nuts and get sent to hell anyway.”

 

“Impossible now, given the destiny of your soul. But he certainly is an assbutt.”

 

Dean guffawed. “Ass-butt?”

 

Cas blinked. “Did I say it wrong?”

 

“Y-you… neverm—” Dean shook his head. “You know what? You can put ‘ass’ with just about anything.” He cleared his throat and raised a brow. “Speaking of which…”

 

“Dean —”

 

“How ‘bout I put this ass with that dick? Heh? Yeah?”

 

Cas rolled over on his back, and would you believe, the little shit had the audacity to laugh. Dean jumped him, hands tight around Cas’ waist, curiosity whetted when his mate squirmed under the touch.

 

“You ticklish?” Dean asked. “How did I not know this?”

 

Cas thrashed around when Dean moved his fingertips along his side. A burst of laughter erupted from his lips, and it was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Straddling his lap, he poked around, determined to find every sensitive spot. Cas could have thrown him off right off the bat, but instead, he laid there writhing and giggling, so he couldn’t have hated it that much.

 

“I’m gonna keep tickling you until you fuck me,” said Dean through gritted teeth. He was determined to get what he wanted, and if this was how it had to happen, so be it. Besides, Cas’ toothy grin was positively magical. He could stay like this for days.

 

“You’ll have to pay for extra nights,” Cas snapped back.

 

To that, Dean padded Cas’ tummy like piano keys, squeezing around his waist every few strokes to keep him on his toes. He looked down at Cas’ pink cockhead, unsheathing and calling to him like a siren’s song. Fighting the urge to take him in his mouth, he kept his hands moving, letting the light puffs of Cas’ laughter distract him. 

 

The combination of this fearsome creature and the concept of being ticklish was kind of hilarious. Plus, Cas’ laugh was contagious. Dean found himself chuckling to himself, which seemed to amuse Cas, which made Dean laugh even harder. Dammit, he couldn’t force a good fucking out of him if he couldn’t stay serious. He lost his grip on Cas’ body, which gave Cas the chance to grab Dean’s wrists.

 

Not standing a chance against Cas’ immense strength, Dean shook in place before giving up. He sat on his lap, grinning ear to ear, hands held away from Cas’ body. He slumped forward, exhausted. Although Cas allowed him to lay on his stomach, he didn’t let go of his wrists, just in case Dean was faking him out.

 

Dean closed his eyes. Cas stopped giggling, so the two were beginning to finally calm down. An idea struck him. Without giving him time to react, Dean laid his mouth across Cas’ belly and flew a flabby gust of air onto his skin.

 

Cas jumped in surprise. “Dean?” he gasped, stomach instinctively sinking away from the contact. When he did it again, Cas yelped out a wordless surprised noise and held onto his wrists tighter. “What are you doing?”

 

“Blowin’ raspberries, sweetheart. You’ve got my hands in a vice — I’ve gotta tickle you somehow. Besides, if I can’t blow you for real, well…”

 

“Dean Winchester, I have had enough of your insolence.” 

 

Internally singing praises, Dean couldn’t help his toes wiggling in delight as Cas threw him onto his back. Lifting one of Dean’s legs in the air, Cas lined himself up and wasted no time filling him to the hilt. Dean’s contented sighs filled the hotel room, which grew into more colorful words as Cas began pounding into him.

 

“Ahh yes… Uhh, Cas… Castiel… Fuck me, fuck me, that’s it… That’s the spot. Fucking Christ, Cas. More, more, please… More. Fuck. Fuck… So good. So fucking… oh god.”

 

Cas slid in and out, enjoying every perfect noise Dean made. When he picked up the pace, Dean’s eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open, signaling that Cas was doing everything right. He couldn’t look away. He was memorizing every little thing Dean loved. He lifted Dean’s other leg, driving into him hard, feeling Dean’s ass fluttering around him once again in anticipation of another orgasm.

 

“Dean,” Cas groaned.

 

Opening his eyes, Dean’s heart skipped a beat to see the eyes of his beloved so intently studying him. The eye contact aroused him more if that was even possible, and he felt a hot coil in his abdomen preparing to snap. He could get lost in those eyes. Bucking up to meet Cas’ movements, Dean grunted at every thrust, determined to get that gorgeous cock as deep inside him as humanly possible.

 

“Dean,” Cas said, again.

 

“Yeah, baby?” he responded between short breaths.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Ahh fuck,” Dean blurted, his own orgasm taking him by surprise. He painted Cas and himself with his come, totally untouched, spurred on by Cas’ tender touches and words and goddamn blue eyes. What a couple of saps in love.

 

Cas gently set Dean’s legs on the bed as his body came down from the high. Once Dean’s cock was spent and growing flaccid, Cas pulled out and collapsed beside him. The two tangled into each other’s arms, unwilling to let go. Neither wanted to acknowledge the immediate future, wishing instead they could fast-forward to Sunday.

 

“I have to go,” Cas whispered. “I don’t have much time.”

 

Dean buried his face in his neck. “I wanna go with you.”

 

“I’m not strong enough anymore. I wish I could take you, one last time.”

 

Dean ran his fingers along Cas’ wing, its bone and skin solid under the gentle stroke. It was fascinating that for all his strength, most of it lied not in his form, but in the worth of human souls. When he gave up the power of Dean’s name, it set his savings account back hundreds of years. When he began the bonding process, he lost a considerable amount of power.

 

Dean’s head shot up. “Use my soul.”

 

Cas swallowed. “Your soul?”

 

“It’s valuable as fuck, right? That means it’s got a bit of mojo of its own. You might be able to, I dunno, siphon some of its power, and use it to let me take one last ride with you.”

 

“Strengthen myself with the power of your soul?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“No. That is preposterous.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It would be highly imprudent to utilize a soul’s raw power without first circulating it through the exchange system.”

 

“The thing you do with the hot wax… and pouring it in your palm… and collecting bonus XP?”

 

“Yes,” Cas replied, sitting up. “Utilizing uncirculated soul power is the black market of my realm. It is simply not permitted.”

 

Dean lifted a mischievous brow. “Since when do we follow what’s permitted?”

 

Cas sighed anxiously. This was a horrible idea. They could get caught. If other demons caught wind of their underhanded dealings, those loyal to Jervis would have justifiable means to come after him. It was dangerous and Cas didn’t like it. But it was their last week as unbonded mates. Dean might go as far as to call it their bachelor party.

 

“Fine,” Cas said flatly.

 

Dean pumped his fist and whispered, “Yes!” under his breath. One more ‘take your boyfriend to work day’. As much as he wanted to tag along that night, Cas had to leave before they’d have a chance to pull it off. Besides, bachelor parties were traditionally held closer to the Big Day, so they decided on Saturday night. They would spend Cas’ last incubus shift together.

 

* * *

 

Dean considered going to the gym that night, just because it would be kind of sad spending the night in such comfort without his beloved. But it was already paid for, so he let Rufus know he was somewhere else. Alone with his thoughts, he had the chance to think. It was a good thing, too, because he had a lot to think about.

 

In less than a week, he would be destined for hell, and Cas would be bound in a human body. Down the road, once they both died, they would be reunited as soulmates forever, spending eternity in the place everyone liked to talk smack about. It couldn’t be that bad, especially with Cas at his side. It sure beat Hypocrite Highrise up in the sky. Fuck that place.

 

He would, of course, miss his family. He didn’t know if he could ever bring himself to tell them he’d never see them again after they all crossed over. He’d eventually introduce them to Cas, and do a shit ton of explaining to Sam, but revealing the complexities of their soulbond might be overkill. He was disheartened to know this life was now all he had with his family, so he was determined to make the best of it.

 

His mom and brother deserved the best, but he highly doubted they could have that while under his dad’s roof. He emailed some job openings to his mom — state jobs that took care of their employees with room for growth. Once Dean sent the angry riot after John, things would start to move quickly, and Mary might be forced to support herself and Sam.

 

Dean would help where he could, of course. He would never give up on his family. But he had Castiel to take care of now, as well. They were going to be just fine, he was sure of it, but he wanted to supply his boyfriend with a better place to live than a gym floor. Cas had no work experience, besides the obvious, and Dean couldn’t expect him to integrate into society at the drop of a hat. Things like that would take time, and Dean was more than willing to help, but in the meantime, he needed to be able to support them both.

 

Amid all this, he sincerely hoped the relationship with his father was salvageable. John was so hardheaded and Dean was so willing to please; it was a toxic combination. Dean might never be what his dad wanted, but that didn’t stop him from feeling terrible about it. It was all in his head, he knew, and he wouldn’t change who he was for the world, especially now that he found Cas, but words still hurt. They would keep on hurting as long as Dean cared what John thought of him, which would be forever.

 

Checkout time was close to his shift start anyways, so he set his alarm to give him time to grab a bite to eat and head to work. Waking up in a hotel bed was disorienting, but he got up with no backache or crick in his neck, which was more than he could say for the past month. He even took a quick shower, just because it was there. He felt like a king. 

 

Refreshed and back in the auto shop aisles, Dean directed a generic greeting at the person setting off the entry bell. He was in deep concentration over a new marketing wrap, so he didn’t bother checking who it was. Kneeling in a spread of printed cardstock, removable mounting squares, and planograms, he looked up only when a shadow moved into his light.

 

“You gonna sit there and read all day?” Bobby groused. “Or are we gonna have a talk?”

 

“Talk?” Dean panicked. “What about?”

 

“Relax. Just get up and meet me at the register.”

 

Being told to relax about a boss-to-employee “talk” had the opposite effect, but at this point, he was afraid to give pushback. Had he done something wrong? Did Bobby have hidden cameras and get hours of real-life porn coverage between Dean and his demon boyfriend? Was Dean miscounting the registers and coming up short? A nickel was five cents, right? He began hyper-analyzing everything about his time as a keyholder and second-guessing which way he turned the key at night. Nothing “off” was coming to mind, so whatever it was, must be huge.

 

Dean stood in front of the counter, across from Bobby, who was in the swivel chair by the cash register. The old man was unnervingly calm. Dean bit a nail while awaiting the mystery discussion.

 

“You like working here, am I right?”

 

Oh, man. Here it was. The first few words of the ol’ “improve your performance or else” speech. Where was he slacking? Dean ran through a mental checklist. He dusted. He stocked shelves. He ordered supplies. His customer retention in the garage was up 5% since his last evaluation. What the hell was going on?

 

“Yes sir,” he replied firmly. Shit, who was he kidding? He fucking loved this old dump. 

 

“Tell me, son,” Bobby continued. “What would you change about the place, if it were up to you?”

 

Dean blinked hard, taken aback by the strange question. “Uh, I’d add another car lift out back, for one.” When Bobby just stared at him in response, he coughed and went on. “And maybe change out the carpet.”

 

“Huh,” the old man continued. “You think the sign out front needs changing?”

 

“No way. That old thing is a landmark in this town. Maybe give it a powerwash, but that’s it. Why do you ask, Bobby?”

 

He shrugged. “I’m lookin’ at retiring here soon, which means I gotta leave the place to somebody. It’s been my baby for forty years, and whoever takes over better do right by ‘er.”

 

Dean tilted his head. “You? Retire?”

 

“Damn right. And I deserve it if I do say so myself. I ain’t going’ anywhere if that’s your worry. This ol’ town has grown on me.”

 

“Why… why would I be worried…? Wait, you’re…”

 

“The place is yours if you want it.”

 

Dean’s eyes opened wide. Every worry swimming around in his mind washed away in a split second. A tidal wave of realization dropped on him.

 

“Bobby, if you’re retiring, you should at least sell the place and get some money for it.”

 

“Like hell,” he barked. “I wouldn’t trust a stranger with the place if he paid four times the value. You’re a hard worker, you’re honest, you know the people in this town, and you’re good with cars. Whataya say?”

 

About five different responses came to mind at once, but Dean couldn’t concentrate on a single one long enough to get it out. “I’m just… I mean I’d love… But you could… It’s… Uh.”

 

“Tell you what, think it over. I’m not walkin’ just yet.”

 

“Oh… okay.”

 

“But as soon as the ‘yes’ comes, I’m out. I’ll show you how to manage the books and back office, and I ain’t blocking your number, so you can call if you have questions. But other than that, you’re on your own.”

 

Bobby probably meant for the last four words to sound a lot scarier, but after being self-sufficient for this long, it sounded a lot more like freedom than anything else. It also sounded like a way to support Cas. That spot in the back where Bobby kept his creepy black safe could fit a small mattress. If he couldn’t afford an apartment, he and Cas could sleep there. If his income was enough after all, maybe he could hire Sammy part-time.

 

“Yes,” Dean exclaimed. “My answer is yes. Geez, Bobby, I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Say you’ll take care of ‘er,” he suggested.

 

“She’s in good hands.” He smiled big enough for his eyes to crinkle. This was too much. This was really happening. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. I’m… I just…”

 

“C’mere, ya idjit,” the grump said before standing up and reaching across the counter. He pulled Dean into a hug and patted his back. “If you run the place into the ground, I’ll kill ya.”

 

Dean was heaving out heavy breaths, and he couldn’t tell whether he was getting ready to cry, sobbing out weird, emotional laughs, or being choked to death by Bobby’s bear hug. The crotchety old man had no idea what this meant to him. He was just ready to retire and Dean happened to be there. But the universe was funny that way.

 

Yes, he was ready to take anything that could free him from depending on anyone else. But he loved that auto shop. On occasion, people asked Dean what he wanted to be when he grew up. He never considered ‘businessman’ an option, but it fell in his lap. And when he took a step back to see how much how fond he was of the place, the answer was obvious.

 

“Thank you,” Dean got out, after catching his breath. “I won’t let you down.”

 

Bobby let Dean go, pulling back and squeezing his shoulder. “I know you won’t.”

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, still floored at the news. He touched the checkout counter. He glanced at the fossil of a desktop. He smelled the stale air and slight burn of the heating unit. It was all his.

 

“Now, let’s get you set up for success.” Bobby sat back down and waved Dean over. He jiggled the computer mouse to wake up the monitor. “I’ll show you how payroll works.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to leave a teaser for the next chapter, but it's also a warning. There will be a VERY graphic depiction of violence in chapter 19. Like, I had to step away from my laptop for a few hours because I grossed myself out. It's already an archive warning, so I'm not taking any of you by surprise, strictly speaking, but I want you guys to know that a certain scene in 19 is why that archive warning is there. 
> 
> Ok that's all! I hope you guys are having a great week :)


	19. Night Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, Dean will fly with Cas one last time, then complete the next step towards total bondship. Before closing time, a fellow senior's parent drops by the shop to pledge his allegiance, but not before a shocking confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to [Night Flight](https://youtu.be/YlbBk4hZi-w) by Led Zeppelin
> 
> This chapter is loaded. Some of it is easy to read, but most of it isn't. Here be heavy subjects. For specifics, read chapter warnings below. To be surprised, skip to chapter text.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- mentions of homophobia, anon hate, and religious manipulation  
> \- VERY graphic depiction of violence, minor character death  
> \- sexual dysfunction

“So basically, the holodeck is fan fiction.”

 

“Charlie, come on. It’s a virtual stage on which other fictional characters can live out different scenarios.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Just because Janeway changed the marital status of the cute guy at the pub so suit her own fantasies, doesn’t mean…”

 

“Are you listening to yourself, Winchester?”

 

Silence on the other end.   
  
“Dean?”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“See? I told you. The holodeck is fan fiction.”

 

Dean sighed into the phone. “But Star Trek characters are already fictional.”

 

“Fanfic inception.”

 

“This conversation has folded over so many times, I’m not even sure what we’re discussing anymore.”

 

“So you’re surrendering?”

 

“Fine,” Dean finally gave in. “I’ll give it to you. But only because my brain has melted from saying ‘fan fiction’ so many times.”

 

“Ooo hey,” Charlie interjected as a thought came to her. “BBC’s Sherlock is technically fan fiction of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works, right?”

 

“Y-yes, technically…”

 

“So if you write BBC Sherlock fan fiction, it’s a fanfic of a fanfic!”

 

“Charlie, my head hurts.”

 

Dean treasured every minute not consumed with work. For someone out of school, he sure was a busy bee. Bobby’s store owning lessons took minimal time, since he knew how to do almost everything anyway, and it crossed his mind that Bobby had been training him for this moment for quite some time now, without him knowing. Even if he had turned down the shop, he learned valuable skills other employers would appreciate. Now he was running the shop on his own, open to close.

 

It was exhausting but exhilarating. He was in charge of cash flow. Bobby explained how to maintain his certifications and keep aside a percentage for taxes, and the salary was even more promising than he anticipated. With it, he could keep Cas comfortable and hire a part-time cashier. It made him swell with pride to know he could give his mate the life he deserved, after believing for so long that it was too far-fetched.

 

Dead hours at the shop were as predictable as the plot of a holiday Hallmark movie, so he took advantage of the silence and called up Charlie. School was starting up again in less than two days, and he wanted to bug her one last time before it consumed any chance of goofing off in the elusive “spare time” grown-ups liked to talk about.

 

Dean was a nerd. Secretly, he’d like to think. But Charlie just handed his ass to him by way of fan theories, metas, and analysis from the endless abyss of nerddom, showing him that he did not, in fact, know as much about Star Trek as he initially thought. It made him want to both delve deeper into the forums, and rip his eyes out, simultaneously. How did she do it? Her brain must have at least five extra compartments set aside for all this extra stuff.

 

“Have you kept in touch with anyone else from the bad place?”

 

Relieved at the change of subject and amused by her nickname for church, Dean thought through all his contacts, not including the anonymous hate he still occasionally blocked. “You, mostly. Lisa and Benny, too. Obviously Sam and my mom.”

 

He looked under the counter at his slowly growing pile of care packages. Mary was slowly sending him all his clothes, along with the occasional twenty dollar bill she smuggled out of John’s wallet. Although his storage was limited, for the time being, that was about to change, and he appreciated having familiar things around him and some extra money. He could have paid for his first month’s rent in an apartment, but he wanted to keep saving.

 

Most of his cost of living centered around food, honestly. Dean had to start using Rufus’ exercise equipment to keep up with how fondly his cheeseburgers were growing attached to him, but ruling out buying new clothes forced him to stay in shape. He even started building some muscle. Cas seemed to like it, too.

 

“I still haven’t met this boyfriend of yours,” she complained. “When is that gonna happen?”

 

“Soon,” he promised. Just one more day before nothing could tear them apart. One more day, and he would fearlessly march into town with his man on his arm, showing him off like the proud boyfriend he was. 

 

“Not gonna send me a picture or anything?”

 

“I want you to be surprised,” he said. “Tell you what, come to my work Monday after you get outta school. He’ll be here.”

 

“Now we’re talking. Tell him he’s still gotta pass the best friend test before he can whisk you off anywhere.”

 

“Woah, Charlie. He hasn’t gotten down on one knee or anything.”  _ No, he’s only binding his soul to mine for-freaking-ever _ . 

 

“My point still stands. I’ve gotta approve of him first.”

 

Dean shook his head, hoping Charlie couldn’t hear the eye roll in his voice. “Whatever you say, Celeste.”

 

“Ehh,” she dragged out the sound with an expression Dean just knew consisted of her nose crinkling up. “I changed my mind, I like ‘Charlie’ better.”

 

Dean spotted someone approaching the shop door before he could come up with a witty response. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go. There’s a customer.”

 

“Sell all the things. Peace out.”

 

Excited to see Mr. Talley walk in, Dean hung up and gave a welcoming smile. Jake’s dad had a work-related accident and was in a hard cast for the majority of the fall semester. Dean was happy to see him down one crutch and leg tied up in a soft cast. 

 

“Good to see you out and about, Mr. Talley.” Dean came out from behind the counter and met him in the middle of the sales floor.

 

“Dean,” he greeted cheerfully as they shook hands. “It’s been too long. Are you doing well?”

 

“Very,” came the honest answer. He didn’t have a single care in the world. Life was so good, Dean couldn’t help the excitement creeping across his cheek. “How about that leg of yours?”

 

“Getting better every day. I’m blessed.”

 

Dean stuck his thumbs in his pockets and teetered on his heels. How could he not, when he was mere hours from taking the next step with Cas towards their soulbond? He couldn’t stop the radiant twinkle in his eyes. How badly he wanted to shout it from the housetops.

 

“Good, good. And what about Jake? Haven’t heard from him lately.”

 

Mr. Talley tilted his head from side to side and looked down, an air of reluctance surrounding the answer. Dean began to grow concerned. When the Mrs. dropped by to pick up her car all those weeks ago, Jake was just fine. Whatever went down, was something new.

 

“He’s fine,” Mr. Talley replied after the extended pause. “We’re all fine… now.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Y-yes,” he said, scratching his chin with his free hand before putting it in his coat pocket. “Jake has been fine. He and I were butting heads for a little bit, but we got past it.”

 

Dean didn’t feel like it was any of his business, but something about his tone suggested there was more context to this than he was letting on. “Oh… Okay.”

 

“I know you probably don’t feel like talking about your father, but… I’m ashamed to say this, Dean, but when he first told us you were living in sin, I bought it.”

 

Mood dropping at the mention of his dad, Dean’s smile slowly faded, and he blinked away the memory of his dad reeling off homophobic slurs from the pulpit. “He’s uh… he’s got a way with words.”

 

“He had me under this thumb. I was ready to come and find you. You might recall receiving a text message from me soon after the service?”

 

A heavy gasp caught in Dean’s throat. “You sent one of those?”

 

“I am so, so sorry,” Mr. Talley gushed, presenting his palms in apology as he continued to lean on the crutch. “What I did was wrong. Even if I didn’t agree with your sexual orientation, it doesn’t make it right to be judgemental. Jake told me later that day, you don’t have to agree with someone in order to act decently. He’s got wisdom beyond his years.”

 

Dean swallowed thickly, the old wounds of anon hate opening up again. At the time, he laughed them off, but it would be a lie to say the words didn’t come back to him occasionally. Seeing the hands responsible for typing one of the messages was eerie, like it was easier to just imagine it coming from an impersonal, cold screen. And being decent shouldn’t require wisdom; it was something you just… did.

 

“You said ‘didn’t agree’, as in... past tense?”

 

“After the services, we had a family meeting,” Mr. Talley explained. “I was full of it — the verses your dad used, his illustrations, and my own opinions. Your mom, however, spoke to the women, and my wife relayed it all to me. Jake agreed with his mother, and we had a… disagreement.”

 

Mr. Talley’s brows raised involuntarily at the last word, which carried a tone that suggested more than peaceful discussion. 

 

“There was some yelling,” he admitted. “Some cruel words thrown around that we didn’t mean. Quite the godly example we are, huh?”

 

Dean raised his shoulders in a guarded shrug, hands folding across his chest. 

 

“I’ll never forget what my wife asked me, once everybody was too tired to keep their voices raised. She said ‘Jacob, you honestly think the answer to finding out your child isn’t straight, is to try and force them to be straight?’ I didn’t know what to say to that. She said ‘You remember what you told people when they asked if you wanted a boy or girl?’ I said ‘Yes. I told them it didn’t matter, as long as my baby is healthy.’ And then I started to understand.”

 

Dean felt like he was invading a personal conversation, but he couldn’t stop listening. He knew people were talking smack behind his back — as a minister’s son, he was no stranger to it. But knowing one or two people were sticking up for him, was uplifting.

 

“She said ‘When he was little, we signed Jake up for piano lessons, but when he got older we found out he liked soccer. So we put him in soccer, instead. When he was a baby, we assumed he’d hate veggies, because everybody told us kids hate veggies. But when we started him on solid food, he loved that nasty peas and carrots baby food. So we got him more. What if Jake woke up tomorrow and told you he didn't want to find a wife one day? What if he wanted a husband, instead?’”

 

Dean dragged his bottom lip through his teeth.

 

“‘Would you not support him, just like you have in every other aspect of his life? Would you not want him to be happy? It’s not something Dean can turn on and off, honey. It is what it is. Just like Jake didn’t choose to like soccer and vegetables. The good Lord made him that way. How is this any different? Trying to change something that comes naturally is just going to communicate that you draw the line somewhere in your love for him. I love you, ‘but.’ That’s not love. That’s a parent trying to create a child in their image.’”

 

A new smile tugged at the corner’s of Dean’s mouth, this time more thoughtful, more solemn.

 

“‘What are you hoping for, a boy or a girl? Gay or straight? Outgoing or quiet? We don’t get to choose. We get what we get, and we love them no matter what.’ That’s the moment the lightbulb went off in my head.” Mr. Talley pursed his lips, the reality of his growth fully hitting him. “I didn’t transform overnight, but it was a start. It was the day my life changed.”

 

The knee-jerk reaction was to express immediate forgiveness, because that’s what Dean was  _ supposed  _ to do, what he was  _ expected  _ to do, but the words stopped somewhere in his throat. It was all just too much to take in. Dean was still catching up with the part where one of his condemners was standing in front of him with a changed heart. 

 

And he wanted so badly to exemplify the easy leniency for which he was hard-wired, like water off a duck’s back; to turn the other cheek, like a good Christian; but it was just too hard, and maybe Dean wasn’t a good Christian, after all. Maybe every time he said “it’s alright” he wasn’t really setting himself more free, but chaining himself further down to the passivity deemed appropriate for meek servants of the most high. Maybe he was done with being passive.

 

“What you did,” Dean croaked, voice hoarse and shaky. “The things you said… were not okay.”

 

“No, they were not.” Mr. Talley shook his head sadly. “I can’t just walk in here and ask for your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve that. I walked in here to say we’re leaving the church.”

 

“You… what?”

 

“After Mandy knocked some sense into me, nothing else your father said regarding the matter set well with me. I got so tired of it, I left in the middle of one of his sermons.”

 

Dean exhaled the huff of a half-laugh through his nose. The feeling Mr. Talley was describing was a familiar one. It was like someone shoving food into your mouth after you’re already stuffed. Except the food is shit. And you’re crying from being so sick of it. Everyone is staring, expecting you to just take it instead of being a little bitch.

 

“This past Sunday morning was our last service. Haven’t been back since.”

 

“But,” Dean realized, tensing up, “but you’re one of his deacons.”

 

People couldn’t just leave the assembly John Winchester built. The way things were set up, each family became dependent on the approval and good standing he supplied. He made sure of it. If someone left, their good name left with them, and without a nod from the pastor, good luck finding anyone of worthy reputation to take them into their spiritual fold. The caveat was: to John Winchester, no other assembly had reached the high mark his had; switching churches was just a downgrade — a sad relapse into the ways of the world.

 

The stigma was multiplied for those in positions of leadership. It’s what made it so impossible for Dean to pass through the fire unscathed, along with his mother, brother, and now, the Talleys. Within those four walls, those in leadership were not only held to an even higher standard than the already impossible one “regular” members were pressured to adhere to, but were also expected to rebuke sin the loudest, judge the quickest, and be the “pillars” those under them could only hope to one day emulate.

 

It made the Talleys’ decision epically more controversial.

 

“The only thing keeping the pastor safe is the complacency of most of his members,” Mr. Talley continued. “The moment people start realizing something is off, he loses that protection.”

 

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Now Mr. Talley was speaking his language. 

 

“Someone high up on the food chain leaving will shake things up a bit,” the man continued with a determined spark in his eyes. “I’m honored that person happened to be me. The more people join in, the more noise we can make.”

 

This was coming together to be more exciting than Dean originally thought. He came to terms a long time ago with the fact that this couldn’t just be a protest with signs and crowds. It was a game of chess. And the pieces were moving.

 

Not only that, this wasn’t some half-assed apology, either. Mr. Talley realized he fucked up and was  _ doing something about it _ . He was intimately involved in the inner workings of the church, and him being gone left a gaping hole in John Winchester’s circle of trust. Mr. Talley was taking off with not only power and influence, but sensitive information. 

 

It might not be enough to bring the system to its knees, but it was a huge step in the right direction.

 

“You really think we can make this happen?” Dean asked, for the first time giving himself permission to be vulnerable about his plan of rebellion. He needed to let himself question it. Because he wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was going to work. He wasn’t even sure it could.

 

“We have a chance,” Mr. Talley answered with realistic optimism. 

 

Dean nodded, looking down to contemplate how far he had come, how close he was to the end. He was fucking Cas tonight and completing the bond tomorrow, with the date of his uprising to be determined. The best part was, he didn’t have to fight alone. If John dared publically point his finger at Dean, he had at least twelve pointing back at him, starting with Mr. Talley, a freakin’ deacon.

 

Of course, there was also his mother, who was responsible for shifting the mindset of several members. Behind the scenes, she worked tirelessly, now willing to defy her own husband in more ways than just quiet ones. She was really putting her neck out there, but every time Dean asked about it, she insisted she was fine.

 

He entrusted her safety to Sam, who he drilled over the phone whenever possible. The pipsqueak insisted he was handling any back backlash coming from their father. Although he wasn’t giving Dean details, he emphasized that Dad hadn’t gotten physical since the altercation regarding the fake phone.

 

Charlie was there for him from the very start. She confirmed his sense of self-preservation stemming from his fear of coming out, which was a hand in how quickly he got out of his room after John caught him in bed with Cas. She was his rock. Friggin’ nerd.

 

Meg Masters was always a wild card in the eyes of John, which automatically made Dean feel relaxed around her. The words exchanged between them were minimal, but a silent alignment formed between them over the years. It was like they were on the same wavelength. When news of Dean’s dilemma reached her, the only thing that registered to her was his well-being. He would never forget her expression when he explained his situation to her, and instead of turning up a brow or wrinkling her nose at the part about liking dudes, her face was relaxed, like he was talking about classes, not a subject that caused so much uproar where they were from.

 

Lisa and Benny were good to have on his side, as well. Although powerless in the grand scheme of church politics, they were his friends, and he would be heartbroken if one or both of them suddenly turned on him. In an organization where it was cool to be a goody-goody, playing the “holier than thou” card would have been the easiest thing to do, despite their inability to cast the first stone.

 

Jo turned out to be a surprising ally. Turns out, she was just as uneasy around him as he was around her. Turns out, she just wanted to go through the motions without being judged for running a bar with her mom. Once Dean made it abundantly clear he didn’t buy into his dad’s judgy mindset, she started to relax and trust him. On his third visit to the roadhouse, she introduced him to her pet boa constrictor, which Dean did  _ not  _ realize was caged mere feet away from him in the break room after all this time.

 

Ellen might be a literal angel. After getting past her tough exterior, he found a total momma bear with lots of love to give. His first shot of whiskey came courtesy of Ellen Harvelle — all very hush-hush, of course. She stopped laughing, eventually… after she helped him off the floor.

 

And Ash? Crazy as he was led to believe. Jo might be right about the death ray, after all. Ash had an uncanny ability to force Dean to think,  _ really think _ , about the “why” of what he believed. He shook Dean to his core. Some of it was just nutty, but he had good points, too. And Ash meant well by it all.

 

The strangest member of this ragtag gang of misfits was probably Chuck. Not because he was, well, Chuck, but because Dean couldn’t recall a single instance in his life when someone could fuck up so badly, and yet end up at the precise place they were trying for all along. It was like that CGI nightmare Jar Jar Binks doing everything wrong, yet somehow winning the battle in the end. Watching Chuck’s story unfold was a giant clusterfuck, but it was entertaining and he had good intentions, so what the hell.

 

And of course, Cas. If Cas wasn’t for him, what was the point of all this? He disrupted Dean’s life in the best way possible. Sex might have been the start of it, but the depth of his being was what truly caught Dean’s attention. Cas fought for him behind the scenes, slowly undoing the damage enveloping his soul. He sealed the portal. Every moment he earned away from work, he spent with Dean. He was the greatest supporter anyone could wish for.

 

“Thank you,” Dean said. It was over-simplified but genuine. It wasn’t a flowery acceptance of Mr. Talley’s apology. It gave no false hope that his dreams would be realized and everything would turn to rainbows and unicorns. It was a simple acknowledgment. The man before him was changed and doing his part to stop perpetuating the spread of hate, and Dean appreciated it.

 

As it turned out, Mr. Talley didn’t just come over to chat. He also scheduled a tire rotation, which Dean immediately began looking forward to. At Bobby’s suggestion, he installed a convex security mirror near the garage door so he could keep an eye on the sales floor while outside, as well as an electronic doorbell system that would ring in the garage if a customer entered the front door. Working alone meant hogging all the garage jobs to himself, as well as keeping an obligation to indoor sales. Although it was warm indoors, working on cars was his first love, so the tire rotation would be a welcomed change of pace.

 

Dean sneaked a glance into the stock room after Mr. Talley left. It was divided into two distinct areas by a couple of mismatched room divider panels he picked up at a second-hand store. On one side, it was the back room as usual: shelves, boxes, ladders, a tagging gun, and landline which probably hadn’t been used since 1997. 

 

On the other side laid a cheap mattress and box spring set, complete with sheets, pillows, and his comforter from back home. Two cardboard boxes stacked on their sides became his makeshift dresser, where he stored the most important of his belongings his mom sent him over the past few weeks. He also had a stack of clothes for Cas, as he would be needing those soon.

 

An extension cord he damaged out from the shop plugged into the wall, supplying power to his phone charger and a lamp he found at a yard sale. The back room overhead worked just fine, but having a smaller light closeby felt homier. His setup was humble and minimal, but he loved it. For now, it was home.

 

Even though he stopped spending the night on the gym floor, Rufus kept the invitation open to use his washer, dryer, and showers. Being a sole employee at the auto shop, Dean quit his part-time gig of cleaning exercise equipment, which was fine by Rufus, since most newbies were about to give up on their fitness resolutions already. Dean was in the habit of squeezing in a few miles on the treadmill while his laundry dried. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

 

Counting down the minutes to closing time was excruciating. Tonight was the night. He and Cas had been apart for the majority of the week, each attending their own matters. Cas had to rack up enough fuck bucks pay for part of tonight off, without tipping off any rival demons that he was planning on hacking into Dean’s soul power and then bottoming. That would go over well.

 

Tonight, Dean would take one last magic carpet ride. He left his first front-row experience fascinated by the work and with a new-found respect for sex demons. Tonight was Cas’ last shift ever, and they were elated to be able to spend it together. Just a quick charge-up from his soul, and Cas would be running on jet fuel for the rest of the night.

 

“Hmmph,” Dean grunted as Cas absorbed energy from him with his hand spread across Dean’s chest. They were four minutes in and his sternum felt like it was about to melt off. 

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Mm-hmm, just… hurts…”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”

 

After locking up the store, Dean met Cas by the garage door, away from stragglers who liked to window shop after closing time. As soon as Dean gave the go-ahead, Cas held his palm against Dean and began harvesting his soul power. What started as exciting from being forbidden turned to burning pain emanating from his chest. 

 

The process took under five minutes, and after Cas’ hand dropped, Dean grabbed his chest and breathed deep. He expected to feel different, emptier; but apparently, the human soul is a massive supply of energy, and Cas barely scraped the surface. He was planning on making a corny “my soul is yours, anyway” line, but after undergoing that much discomfort, the words escaped him.

 

After hopping aboard the Cas Express and sneaking a peek at the list of helpless victims, Dean hunkered down for the ride. Cas left the messenger demon room and began his first assignment, which was top priority if his speed was any indicator. Occasionally, Cas passed another demon flying in the veil, but all were too absorbed in their own business to notice the raw energy Dean’s uncirculated soul power emitted.

 

Apparently, the powers that be wanted his shift to start off with a bang. As in, a gang bang. Which included four other sex demons and a room full of horny humans. Also, Cas was already late, so by the time they swept in, the place was a hot mess.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean hissed under his breath.

 

The room was so abuzz with activity, it was hard to focus on just one thing. No windows to be seen suggested they were underground. The lighting was dim but multicolored, coming from a rotating ball lamp, and the music was loud enough to drown out most of the pornographic sounds. The sexual energy was palpable, radiating far beyond the bodies moving and grinding together, which is probably what called out to Cas and his work buddies.

 

In one corner, a man fucked a squealing succubus into the mattress while being impaled by an incubus from behind. The tiny bed they shared whined under their collective thrusts. A woman, naked except for six-inch heels, kneeled on the bed over the succubus’ mouth, eyes rolling back when the demon wrapped her arms around her thighs and lapped at her folds. Behind the woman approached an incubus, sliding into her back door with ease, continuing the chain.

 

Under the rotating lights, a man in nothing but socks and an unbuttoned dress shirt bent a succubus over in the middle of the room. The demon was clearly not into it, judging by the bored way his eyes wandered around the room. Dean couldn’t blame him though — the man had his eyes squinted shut and was grunting through clenched teeth as he hit it from behind, obviously chasing his own end without another care in the world.

 

And oh, there was more. But it would take too long to take it all in. Cas had work to do.

 

What was this place? An old, rich dude’s sex dungeon? The password-protected orgy room at a club? Demon Night at Gamma Kappa Pi? It was pointless to ask Cas, so Dean just shrugged it off and enjoyed the show.

 

Cas approached a man bent over a bed with his face between a woman’s legs and his ass looking far too empty. Dean strained to look around as Cas grabbed the man by the hips and fucked him quick and dirty. Too much was going on and it was disorienting. How was anyone keeping track of who still needed to get their sex demon frequent customer card stamped?

 

Swirling black smoke in the corner distracted Dean from the action down south. It was massive, foreboding; a powerful portal created by the sum total of tonight’s sexually charged shenanigans. A spectra demon swirled out, surrounded by her own dark gray smoke, and hovered over the disco ball before pinching out one of the lights.

 

Dean got a different view once Cas finished the man off and turned to the other side of the room. A couple made out off to the side — a woman and a rough looking man with a beanie. At first, Dean had a delayed reaction but took another look before his blood ran cold. 

 

It was that lowlife piece of shit that raped Lisa.

 

“Hey,” Dean prodded. “What about him?”

 

_ He’s already been marked _ , Cas projected, turning instead to a group of women nearby.

 

Dean gagged at the sight of him. Disgusted by the man who simply went on with life after negatively affecting his friend forever, he wished he could have been witness to his soul being claimed by an agent of darkness. Maybe he even gave the demon his name. The thought of his eternal torment was a satisfying one.

 

But not satisfying enough.

 

“What flavor of demon is the home office siccing on him?”

 

Cas turned to face the man, taking in a whiff of his scent.  _ It is undecided _ , he replied.

 

“Any chance you could… influence that?”

 

Eyes narrowing, Cas murmured out loud, “What did you have in mind?” 

 

Dean only had to think for a second. After the church portal opened, a spectra demon rolled in to knock shit over and flip crosses. At his house, an oppressor came through to be the devil on his dad’s shoulder. For once, Dean had a say in the matter, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

 

“Possession. Make it a doozy.”

 

Cas didn’t know what Dean’s beef with the man was, but if he knew anything about humans, it was that they always had a motive. Spite, hate, revenge… Compassion, love, sympathy… The reason didn’t matter to Cas. If Dean wanted it enough to vocalize it, he would make it so.

 

_ I will call down my most destructive colleague _ .

 

Dean nearly jumped for joy. He wanted to throw his head back in maniacal laughter, rub his hands together, break out in a victory dance. He was so lost in thought, he hardly noticed Cas reciting an ominous summoning, out loud, while looking directly at the wide-mouthed portal.

 

A low howl hummed from the great beyond. An incubus paused from his work, body stilling in terror. The disco light blinked, and the spectra demon skedaddled back into the veil. As the disembodied voice vibrated in reply to Cas, growing louder by the second, a succubus side-stepped nervously away from Lisa’s attacker, who was still oblivious to most of the surrounding activity.

 

The music could barely be heard above the portentous drone emanating from the portal. Cas’ incantation had long since ended, now watching and waiting patiently as the rest of the room grew increasingly restless.

 

“Cas,” one of the incubi whispered. “What have you done?”

 

Soft flashes of ultraviolet light glinted from within the black, like lightning deep inside a thunderstorm. With one last thrum, an eerie dark cloud seeped out of the gaping hole, disquiet and dread rising up with it as if awakening from the underworld.

 

Dean’s skin prickled as the being coasted past Cas. It carried an electric, god-like aura, and amid the smoke, a pair of glowing purple eyes pierced into the souls of all who dared gaze upon him. He paused before the rough man, who ceased his make-out session to back up against the wall, holding the woman in front of him as a human shield.

 

“Who the hell is that?” Dean questioned.

 

_ You’ll see _ , Cas replied.  _ He always makes a point to mention his true name _ .

 

“Uh, I thought that was kinda… not something the cool kids did.”

 

_ It’s different when you’re a possessor and bonding to a human soul is your specialty. _

 

The purple-eyed demon moved right past the frightened woman and assaulted the man in a puff of thick smoke, leaching onto him and absorbing into his skin. The man thrashed around, suddenly not as tough as he appeared. He screamed in terror as he twisted and writhed on the floor, slowly losing function of his body to the will of the demon within. The last bit of smoke soaked into him as the dark presence fully seated itself into his body.

 

He held his hand in front of his face, which shook as he attempted to lay it at his side. The demon’s essence ran through his veins, overturning his strength effortlessly. The man was overpowered in every sense of the word. Instead of dropping his hand, he gouged his own eyes out with his index and middle fingers. Every human in the room cried out at the grisly scene, abandoning their orgies for the door under the exit sign. The other demons simply looked on, rooted in fear as they stood.

 

Standing up, the eyeless man held up a clenched fist, locking the only door. His jaw was slack, making the blood running down his face even more horrifying. It trickled from his sockets, down his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt. Some of it trailed into his mouth. 

 

Whoever this demon was, he was in full control of this guy’s body, and Dean felt so twisted for being entranced by the sight. It was beautiful, like watching poetic justice unfold before his very eyes. It was more symmetric and fair than anything he could dish out; all he could do was watch in amazement. This demon was more than the hype surrounding his arrival — he was an artist, a just god, a skilled craftsman. 

 

After every human in the room had their turn at attempting to tear the door down, they began sobbing, naked and helpless, while refusing to look at the fearsome creature. Every demon present stared breathlessly at the possessed man, awaiting word from the evil thing inside.

 

“You got friends in some seriously low places, Cas,” Dean laughed, noting the overall apprehension of anyone to go near him, or even look in his direction.

 

_ He owed me a favor. _

 

One of the women, crying hysterically, turned to the sightless man, who in reply turned to her. Jumping back, she gasped and covered her mouth, body shaking from fright.

 

“Who are you?” she yelled, voice trembling.

 

His lips turned up, the blood on his cheeks arching with them in an unnatural clownish smile. As the disco light flickered with a light buzz, the man took his shirt in his fists and ripped the cloth apart, baring his chest for all to see. Raising his bloody index finger to his right pec, he dug deep into his chest, dragging his finger through his flesh in a zig-zag motion.

 

Dean winced. “Your friend is a little dramatic.”

 

_ You have no idea _ .

 

Continuing to write, the demon tormented the man with every inch of plowing into his flesh. Blood oozed down his body, painting his legs in the possessor’s medium of choice. With every blunt break in the skin, newly rent veins and capillaries spurted onto the floor. 

 

In the span of two minutes, the demon carved four letters on his chest while the man inside howled in pain. The humans screamed in horror. The demons waited patiently. The possessed man’s finger, soaked in blood with strings of skin dangling from the nail, dropped to his side, giving everyone a view of the red, splattered name.

 

Z O Z O

 

“Wait,” Dean breathed. “For real?”

 

_ Somewhat of a specialist. Loves to reach into orifices and pull things out. The worst possible fate I can imagine. His victim will be begging for death by the end. _

 

“Now that, my friend, is a party. Wait, did you say something about reaching into  _ orifices _ ?”

 

Dean grew up hearing stories about this one. Made famous by spelling his name on Ouija boards and terrorizing anyone who happened to be in the way, the famous demon struck fear in the hearts of all who dared utter his name. It was no wonder demons of possession didn’t mind humans speaking their names. Tying themselves to souls was in the job description… it incited fear, provided a stronghold, and embedded their essence deeper into the victim’s life force.

 

But instead of answering, Cas let Dean watch. The possessed man crouched down, reaching behind him with short snarls and grunts, and dug his entire blood-slicked hand deep within his ass. He didn’t bother taking off his pants, instead ripping through the fabric to shove himself fist-deep into his rectum. The squelching sounds were muffled by the steady beat of awful techno music and hysterical screams of onlookers. Blood began dripping from between his buttocks.

 

Reaching deeper, he shifted around close to the floor, dislocating his shoulder. He twisted into an abnormal position, bones cracking as his thick arm slowly disappeared into his ass. Slumped over like a push puppet, his limbs lay floppy and under total control of the puppeteer. Arm buried in his own hole up to the elbow, his forearm stretched his rim to the point of tearing skin. Each inch further in was punctuated by demented laughs Dean didn’t recognize as the man’s normal voice.

 

With a pained yowl, he viciously wrenched his arm out of his ass. His fist clenched his intestines, smothered in blood and feces. His innards unraveled as he pulled, emitting the putrid odor of raw meat and recently digested food on its way through the colon. Blood pooled onto the floor as it poured down his legs, inching toward the terrified group of people on the otherwise unnoticeably slanted floor. Using both hands, he hauled out the long string of guts, visibly in torment but unable to regain control of his body.

 

Bile rose in Dean’s throat. He averted his eyes the best he could from the forced perspective, but the sloshing sounds of blood and entrails did little to take away from the visual. The people standing at the exit door had fallen into a neurotic mixture of sobs and quiet gasps, hiding their faces on the wall and in each other’s necks.

 

“Wow Cas, that’s uh, ugh,” he choked. “When you say your friend is a doozy, you ain’t messin’ around.”

 

_ Only the very best for you, my love. _

 

“It’s uh, this is all very, um…”

 

_ If you are uncomfortable, we can leave for the next waiting client… _

 

“No, no. I wanna watch the rest.”

 

Dean forced himself to look. He wasn’t sure how nausea worked while embedded in another person’s brain, but it was probably something even his soul power couldn’t fix. It took several minutes of touching his soul for Cas to charge up, and it hurt, so he wanted to make the trip worth the while. He felt fine afterward, although he was kinda glad he would never have to do that again.

 

The blood-drenched man teetered on his haunches amid a string of dozens of feet of unraveled intestines. His legs shook as he stood to his feet, the motions the demon orchestrated stiff and controlled. One arm hanging disjointed, the other reaching into the front of his pants, he gritted his blood-soaked teeth until his fingers wrapped around his dick then tore it off.

 

It was barely recognizable as a body part, so limp and lifeless in his tight grip. His torn urethra swayed in the air as he lifted the bloody organ to his lips. His jawbone cracked, leaving his mouth hanging wide open, and he shoved the dick into his mouth, obstructing his airway. 

 

Falling to his knees, he struggled to breathe as his own body part slowly choked him. The demon allowed his hands to grapple at chin-level, but no higher. To the entity within, his plaything reached desperately for the toy just out of reach, like a dog chasing his tail. It was horrendous — such a shame most humans present couldn’t appreciate the artistry of it.

 

With one last wet cough, the man collapsed, breathing his last as the black cloud and purple eyes secreted from his lifeless body. The smoke oozed out of him like fog from a tranquil lake. The room fell deathly silent in the demon’s wake, and as they watched, he paraded himself into the air and out of sight, into the black, swirling portal.

 

Dean stared, unblinking, at the dead man. He was half-expecting him to get up and walk it off, given his history of getting fates that were far too good for him. But no. The soul was gone, and the shell lay there motionless, never again to waste oxygen. A wave of relief washed over Dean, and he let out a long-overdue exhale.

 

“Thanks, Cas.”

 

The woman he was with, now amongst the swarm clinging to the door, shook her head bitterly and wept. The rest of them whispered among themselves before trying again for the door, which now unlocked with ease. As they poured out, Cas turned to face the rest of the room. Dean gulped. Three other sex demons were glaring at them.

 

The review was varied. One shoved Cas’ shoulder on his way into the void and snarled, “You cost me at least two credits!”

 

Another mumbled, “This event was underwhelming, anyway.”

 

One of the succubi rolled her eyes. “It would have been fine if Cas hadn’t summoned  _ him _ .”

 

Another incubus disappeared into the gaping vortex without a word, and lastly, Cas extended his wings and took off. Dean felt like he should apologize for costing them time, but he sensed that it made no difference to Cas. Pissing off some workmates was a sacrifice Cas was willing to make.

 

“That piece of shit deserved it,” Dean said after several minutes of comfortable silence.

 

“I could sense that,” Cas replied out loud. “I don’t know what he did, but the level of rage you conveyed at the sight of him… I’ve never seen it in all my days.”

 

“Yeah, well, trust me, you did the right thing. If I hadn’t put a hit on him here, I might have done it myself eventually.”

 

“I do not think that would bode well, given the human justice system.”

 

Dean wanted to go on and on about how satisfying it was to watch, even in the moments he was sure nausea would get the best of him. But the night was still young, and Cas had a long list of people to satisfy. Thankfully, no one noticed the slight aroma of raw human soul lingering on him in the group sex room. If he could avoid other demons for the rest of the night, he would be free and clear.

 

For the bulk of the night, Dean stayed quiet. Commentary wasn’t necessary when all he had to do was sit back and watch his boyfriend fuck people. In fact, it was kinda hot. Cas was talented, and it wasn’t just because he grew a knack for it over hundreds of years. Watching Cas do the things he was capable of heated Dean up and made him even more excited about later.

 

Under the cloak of darkness they flew, into a Victorian-style house that was already haunted, so the homeowner dead-ass thought he was getting fucked by the ghost of the previous homeowner. He seemed pretty into it, though. Kept calling him “Bob.”

 

The next stop was to a college dorm, where a horny teenager was drowning his breakup blues in cheap liquor and crying into his pillow while his ex-boyfriend fucked the girl in the next room. By the time Cas was done with him, the ex in the next room was the one getting jealous. Hiccuping his thanks, the college student rolled onto his side and fell asleep, sated and avenged. Cas never asked his name. The kid’s soul would probably end up fine in the long run.

 

Next, Cas came to the assistance of an elderly woman who had trouble getting off due to arthritis and carpal tunnel. He was gentle and patient, closing his glowing eyes so as not to frighten her if she awoke enough to look up. He slipped his fingers into her in lieu of her own. Too tired to question it, the woman accepted the ease of which “she” was now fingering herself, and reached her satisfaction in minutes.

 

For his last job of the night and ever, Cas flew into a small apartment laden with an air of sadness. A woman lie naked on the bed, crying herself to sleep. She clutched onto her sheets, her whole body tensed up. When she turned onto her back and saw Cas’ bright eyes already fixed upon her, instead of reacting in fear, she looked almost sanguine.

 

Cas positioned himself between her legs, but could not make it further in than her pelvic wall. He leaned in a bit further, but despite her being wet and more than ready, her vaginal muscles spasmed shut. It was like hitting a wall.

 

“Cas, what —” Dean started to ask before he took a broad look around the room. 

 

The spot on the bed beside her was crumpled up, with sheets thrown aside and an indention in the pillow. Through Cas, he could sense the heat still lingering there. Whoever was there just left, and in a hurry. On the floor, someone had thrown a condom, open and unrolled, but dry inside. The bedroom door was ajar. Dean dragged his eyes from the story of disappointment and impatience to the girl left crying all alone.

 

“It’s no use,” she sobbed. “I can’t do it. I try to relax, but I just… I can’t do it.”

 

Understanding, Cas withdrew himself, immediately sensing the tension alleviate, and laid on his stomach between her legs. He spread her knees, her arousal still fresh but halted by the sudden absence of the man who abandoned her.

 

“Am I a failure?” she asked weakly. “Because I’m a freak?”

 

“The only failure,” Cas replied softly, “is the person who would give up on you based on your ability or inability to do one biological act. The only freak is the man whose idea of sex consists only of sticking something into someone else.”

 

With that, Cas licked a long stripe through her folds, and she shuddered at the sensation. He kissed her inner thighs, ran his tongue over her labia, and nudged her clit with his nose when she began coating his face in newly aroused slick. She sniffed and moaned as he worked, the aura of elation filling the room a far cry from the one they met upon arrival.

 

He took her clit in his mouth, pulling away and putting it again in a steady rhythm that had the woman pushing down on him in unrestrained need. She wrapped her legs around his head as she came, waves of bliss washing over her as tears streamed down her cheeks. For a moment, she laid still, relishing the high. After a grateful sigh, she released him from her thigh grip and met his glowing gaze.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

Cas smiled warmly in reply, flapping away with the heavy beat of his wings. Dean remained quiet as they flew through the smoky veil and back into the auto shop. Before the shift, they decided against Dean visiting the exchange room, as another demon might detect his soul power in passing. While he waited for Cas to return, he sat on his mattress and contemplated their adventure.

 

When Cas told him tonight was going to be busy, he wasn’t kidding. They were thrown right into the thick of it, fashionably late, thanks to the time it took to charge up. Dean was elated for Cas to be getting out of forced labor, and he was proud of both of them for getting this far, but he couldn’t help but notice how good Cas was at his job. Of course, it was borne of necessity, but he had to give props to the guy for good intuition and keeping powerful connections.

 

It would come in handy in his next life as Dean’s mate. The world would never stop needing competence and work ethic, and Cas showed no shortage of either, both on and off the clock. In fact, Dean might have to teach him how to just kick back and relax every once in a while. After all the shit they’ve been through, they deserved it.

 

His time spent behind Cas’ eyes was enlightening. He was right all along: the incubus could teach him a thing or two. The real kicker was, it wasn’t all butt stuff. Thanks to Cas, Dean knew even the most famous stories have at least one untold side. Never assume anything about anybody, especially if those who teach you have nothing but negative things to say about that person. And of course, unconditional love. Cas taught him that, too.

 

Regarding sex, he couldn’t even begin to count the ways Cas had opened his mind. Dean was always fairly unprejudiced regarding the dirty, he liked to think. Before the lock-in, he might have been ignorant to a lot, but he wasn’t an asshole, for the record. Cas taught him to look beyond genitals, which sounded counterintuitive, considering his work, but it was true.

 

Cas could give people what they wanted. Namely, orgasms. But past that, Cas used his masterful intuition to give people what they  _ needed _ . Even I-Swear-I’m-Straight Gary needed a good old fashioned fucking, and Cas knew it, so he chose him. The little old lady didn’t need a pounding, she needed a substitute for her own fingers, so that’s what Cas gave her. The crying girl needed pleasure minus pain, and Cas immediately knew what to do.

 

Sex, Dean discovered, was not about a cock (or two, or more) fucking a hole. Now, if that was involved, he was so in, because that was his jam. But sex was more than that. It wasn’t a finish line. It was exploring, discovering, adoring, and focusing on someone else. It was worship. It was about making the other person feel good, on their level.

 

These things and more burned into Dean’s brain, ingraining there forever for future use. If Cas could take hundreds of years to accumulate all this knowledge, the least Dean could do was mirror it tonight. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. He wanted to make it so good for Cas. The gust of wings tore his attention away from the floor.

 

“Hey handsome,” Dean said, standing to meet him.

 

“My love,” Cas doted, caressing his nose against Dean’s until they could stand it no more, and surrendered to a reverent kiss.

 

Dean cupped his hand at the base of Cas’ neck, lips pressing tighter as he tugged him closer. He loved the way Cas’ fingers splayed across his chest, firm and wandering. He hummed in approval as Cas moved his hands to his shoulders.

 

“You’re stronger,” Cas observed, breaking the kiss far too soon.

 

“You like?” Dean asked with a smug grin. “Been workin’ out.”

 

Cas nodded as his palms ran down Dean’s muscular biceps. “Are you flexing?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

He smiled. “I know you are, Dean. I can smell your blood.”

 

“Not for long.”

 

Cas looked up, eyes darkening with eagerness. “It is possible I might retail a few incubus characteristics after tonight. I will have a human appearance, but who knows… I might still have a heightened sense of smell.”

 

Dean excused the rambling and kissed Cas’ forehead, taking his clawed hands in his before pressing his lips to each knuckle. Cas melted into the gentle touches, leaning close enough to feel Dean’s heat and hear his heartbeat. They had arrived at this moment, at long last. It stretched before them like a step into another world, the end of one age and the beginning of another.

 

“You ready, Cas?” Dean had to make absolutely sure. This was the point of no return. He held Cas’ cheek, and his lover’s head tilted into his palm. “Are you ready to complete the next phase of our soul bond? Let me fuck you?”

 

And he could have sworn, that shameless incubus blushed. The smile Cas gave him was unlike any he’d ever seen: full of hope and happiness, as if seeing a distant light after so long of living in a tunnel. The giddy fucker was bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking Dean up and down the best he could from his close proximity. Finally, the answer came.

 

“Yes, Dean.”


	20. Adoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight is the night Dean makes Cas his. At last, Dean can worship as he pleases; throw caution to the wind, and _adore _him.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to fan art in End Notes!

Laying Cas on his back in a storm of kisses was a moment Dean would cherish forever. Their mouths melted together as he lowered Cas, the box spring whining under their collective weight. Over and over, Dean claimed Cas’ lips with his own, cradling his head in his hands as they lost themselves in each other.

 

Cas’ hands threaded through Dean’s hair, gently pulling him closer, even when there was no more space between them. Dean laid himself over Cas, enjoying the feeling of how perfectly their naked bodies slotted together. When he got the urge to start rutting against him, he took the liberty, knowing Cas would no longer recoil or recite the goddamn incubus rulebook.

 

Their mouths were messy from kisses, but neither cared. It was difficult to say where one ended and the other began, for how wholly they filled each other. If one’s tongue retracted, the other’s filled the space, unsatisfied if even one inch of his lover’s mouth remained unclaimed. Cas let out a pleased moan as Dean tenderly pecked the corners of his mouth, and Dean responded with a soft hum.

 

At first, he was a little embarrassed about not choosing a more special place to do this, but when he suggested a hotel, Cas wouldn’t hear of it. Over the few texts they exchanged throughout the week, Cas made it clear that he wanted this to happen in the love nest that Dean built. Plus, he insisted against splurging for the second time in a month, when Dean could be saving up for a more permanent residence.

 

Kissing Cas was like erasing the rest of the world. At this moment, even if Dean left his eyes open, he and his lover were all that existed. The shop, his fears, the voices in his head, the dangers lurking just beyond their safe haven, and every single cruel word spoken against him, all dissolved somewhere between his lips and Cas’. He never felt so completely at home, than right here, right now. This is how it felt to belong somewhere. His home was with Cas.

 

Moving lower, Dean left a wet trail of kisses down Cas’ jaw and neck. He withheld the urge to suck marks onto his skin; there would be plenty of time for that later tonight. Every press of his mouth to Cas’ skin sent bursts of heat blazing through him, sparking in his brain and flickering all the way to his dick.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispered adoringly. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you?”

 

“Hmm,” came the thoughtful reply. “I believe it was immediately after I finished eating you out for the first time.”

 

Dean guffawed at the crude memory. Cas’ tongue up his ass. Dean questioning their arrangement for the first time. Getting bitten, which honestly shouldn’t have been that hot. It all seemed so distant, and yet seemed like it was yesterday.

 

He didn’t let anything deter him from slowly working his mouth down Cas’ body. He flicked his tongue over a nipple experimentally, and Cas moaned and arched his back. Dean took it as a positive sign and gave the other side equal attention. Watching Cas writhe on his mattress, fisting the sheets with eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, was pure bliss. He had never seen Cas lie back and just let go, and he wanted to commit every twitch to memory.

 

“You know how many times I thought about this while gettin’ myself off?”

 

Cas whimpered — fucking  _ whimpered  _ — when Dean removed his mouth to speak. He flashed a satisfied grin. The raw power of the creature beneath him could not be matched by man; Cas could crush a skull with just a quick squeeze, or snap a neck without fanfare… And yet here he was, pliant under Dean’s ministrations and so far gone, Dean couldn’t help but preen under the approving sounds coming from Cas’ mouth.

 

“Told myself I’d suck your brain out through your dick,” he laughed. “Such a freakin’ romantic, huh Cas?”

 

“Ahh,” Cas sighed as Dean ran his tongue down his stomach. “Dean.”

 

“Oh, where are my manners. I meant, Castiel.”

 

Cas breathed a sharp intake of air, followed by chills running down his spine, the vibrations which Dean felt from his position right over Cas’ abdomen. His mouth turned up in a smile as he took in every small movement Cas made, including his fattened cock curving gorgeously against his lower belly. 

 

It looked even bigger than usual, which made Dean’s mouth water at the thought of finally putting it in his mouth. Chances were, it was the same size it always had been, just closer up than Dean ever had the pleasure of seeing. Either way, it was big and red and begging to be sucked.

 

“You look so beautiful,” Dean somehow had the wherewithal to say as he pulled back to take in the sight. Cas was fully erect, unsheathed from a protective sleeve of scales, surrounded by more shiny black scales melding into firm, tan muscle. Cas opened his eyes — those ethereal, luminescent blue eyes — crowned by a mess of dark hair and assertive horns. 

 

And the wings. His wings spread under him, relaxed but never for a moment letting Dean forget their power. The skin, veiny and smooth, looked their most horrifying pulled taut in mid-flight. Even without his other demonic attributes, his wingspan was intimidating, but more than once, Cas had used them to bring comfort to Dean, rather than fear. Dean knew how it felt to be surrounded by them, pulled into their embrace, cradled while falling asleep.

 

And at last, he could be the one to hold. To protect. To be the one giving, not just taking. Dean might not have the strength to level buildings, but what shelter he could provide, he would freely give. Tonight, Cas was the recipient.

 

Tonight, Cas was his.

 

Dean delicately sucked the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, stoking the heat he knew was building in his lover’s core. Precome oozed out of his own cock, which he spread on his fingers before curling them around Cas’ shaft. When Cas gasped at the new feeling, Dean smiled against his skin as he inched further up his thighs.

 

“Dean, that’s… That’s…”

 

“Just the beginning, sweetheart,” he rumbled against Cas’ pelvis. He jacked Cas deliberately slow, allowing him time to mentally catch up with the movement. On his second pull, Cas arched off the mattress to chase Dean’s hand. Chuckling, he released Cas’ length and pressed both hands on his hips to encourage him to stay put.

 

At the absence of Dean’s hand, Cas propped himself up on his elbows. Dean smiled up at him as he arranged himself between his legs. Cas waited breathlessly, looking from his own cock to Dean’s lips. With one more playful squeeze, Dean took Cas’ cock in hand before guiding it into his mouth.

 

It was all Dean could do to keep from losing himself around the thick heaviness between his lips. He wanted nothing more than to shove it down his throat, choke on it, have his mouth full of the come of his incubus; but he wanted this to be long and drawn out. Tonight being their long-awaited encounter, the least he could do was make it good for Cas.

 

He swirled his tongue directly under the tip, humming as Cas’ very first bead of precome dispersed into his mouth. He could taste him everywhere. Closing his eyes, he pursued more of it, spreading his tongue over the slit. Dean could feel his own groin throbbing, and he popped off for fear of coming before he even started.

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathed. “You taste incredible.”

 

When he finally opened his eyes again, it was to meet Cas’ blissed out gaze. He was still leaning up, mouth agape and eyes glazed over with desire. His hair was messy and cheeks flushed. Dean had never seen him so beautiful.

 

“Why don’t you lie back and relax, baby?”

 

“No,” Cas replied decidedly. “I want to watch. You look magnificent.”

 

Florid words could only sound that hot coming from Cas. A low groan left Dean’s throat at the assurance of such a captive audience, and he bowed his head. Before taking in Cas’ tip, he puckered under it and gave a light suck, followed by a long lick. Cas gave an approving twitch and barely audible gasp, of which Dean took a mental note. 

 

Having his mouth full of Cas was the sexiest thing Dean could imagine. Feeling it slide in and out, wide and heavy, exceeded all expectations. He was hooked. Dean already liked giving head, but nothing could compare to this.

 

Cas’ cock was a dream come true. Deeper and deeper he took him in, relaxing his throat against his impending gag reflex a little at a time until he was swallowing around Cas’ full length. He squeezed Cas’ thighs as the taste of precome increased. His head swam with how amazing Cas tasted. He couldn’t possibly get enough. Cas gushing his spend into his mouth was a thought that egged Dean on and made him ready to come at a moment’s notice. 

 

Even more evocative was the knowledge of how forbidden their actions were. Dean always did get a thrill from rebellion. The idea of his actions having dire consequences, the chances of getting caught, were what made sucking cock in the church bathrooms so much fun. To multiply the trouble in which he was dabbling, the cock in his mouth was off limits…  _ to anyone _ . It was a rush. He was really doing this. He was breaking Lilith’s law, big time.

 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas moaned, fingers carding through Dean’s hair. Apparently, Dean had found a rhythm that worked for both of them. “Don’t stop, don’t stop… Don’t… stop…”

 

Fighting against the urge to bob up and down faster, Dean intensified his motions, hollowing his cheeks for the tightest channel he could make for Cas’ throbbing length. He reached under him and cupped his ass, encouraging him to move. Taking the hint, Cas lifted his hips in short thrusts, one hand gripping onto the longer hairs atop Dean’s head while the other hand propped him up.

 

He could see everything Dean was doing. Looking up through his lashes, Dean made eye contact as he teased Cas’ tip and held the rest of him in a sliding fist. Cas’ eyes rolled back, and Dean bobbed back down. Judging by Cas’ erratic breathing, he was going to come any second.

 

Dean felt another hand hold onto his head, this time pushing him further down as Cas bucked up. He groaned at the welcomed feeling of Cas’ cock plowing down his throat. Cas was losing control to the pleasure. Holy shit, he really was something else. He heard Cas’ head hitting the pillow, followed by breathy moans that grew louder with every indulgent jolt.

 

And with one last choked gasp, Cas came in Dean’s mouth. Hot ropes shot into him, coating his throat and teeth and tongue. He remained latched on as the fat cock pulsed around him, demanding, taking, declaring ownership. He hummed around the length, the intense taste of _ so much Cas _ overwhelming his taste buds. Tears were streaming down his cheeks from having his jaw open for so long. He couldn’t move; he couldn't think. He was high on Cas and his thickness and delicious come. He was high on being a receptacle for such verboten use.

 

As Cas spilled his last drop, Dean wrapped his lips around his head and sucked him dry. He made a sound of dismay at having to take his mouth off of him, and let off with a puckered pop. He looked down at Cas’ red, spit-slick length, and breathed a sigh of victory. The attention on his oversensitive cock made him shiver, and Dean looked up to see him half-lidded and breathing hard.

 

Abandoning his post between Cas’ legs, Dean crawled up the mattress until they were eye-level. He grinned at Cas’ expression of perfect happiness, knowing full-well he got him there. 

 

“You okay?”

 

“Nnngh,” Cas mumbled. “Dean, tha’was… was… ughh.”

 

“Ssh,” Dean shushed, followed by a short chuckle. “You don’t have to talk.”

 

“I feel… I feel…”

 

Dean moved a sweaty strand of hair out of Cas’ face. Although half-open, Cas’ eyes were fixed on him while he searched for words. Dean awaited the verdict. Did Cas feel the bond strengthening? Was he officially cut off from demonic spidey senses and visiting the other side? Did he feel human yet? 

 

“I feel… amazing.”

 

Contentment washed over Dean. He kissed his beloved’s forehead, but Cas wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him down to his lips. It escaped Dean that Cas would taste himself after licking into his mouth, so he didn’t have the mental composure to fight it. After a short moment of shock from Cas at the unfamiliar taste, he melted into it. Their mouths moved together like rolling waves, crashing into each other and pulling back to do it all over again. 

 

“That’s you,” Dean reminded him, lips still moving over Cas’. “I fucking love the way you taste, Cas. Could do that all day. Suck you off until you’re bone dry. Bury your cock down my throat until I’m so full of your come, I can’t swallow anymore.”

 

“Dean,” Cas rumbled, the thought making him shudder. “I never want you to stop.”

 

“I’ll blow you every day,” Dean promised. “Anything to keep this look on your face. I wish you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gone, it’s great. You’re stunning like this, Cas. I love you so fucking much.”

 

Cas stole one last hungry kiss. “Anything?”

 

“Anything, baby. Just say it.”

 

Cas pulled Dean towards him once again but forewent his mouth to put his lips to his ear. “Do you know what I want, Dean?”

 

“What is it, Castiel?”

 

A thick, deep purr, and then the provocative reply. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

The words went straight down Dean’s spine, igniting him again and reviving his softening erection. “As long as I get to look you in the eyes as you come.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Unable to stop the giddy smile tugging at his cheeks, Dean rolled over to retrieve the new bottle of lube stored under Cas’ new clothes. He tore off the seal, dipping a finger in before replacing the cap. As he rolled the slick between his fingers, he turned back around to see Cas curled up, head in his hands.

 

“Cas?” Dean blurted anxiously.

 

“I’m alright.”

 

“Like hell. Does your head hurt?”

 

“It’s my… my…”

 

“Oh, my god.”

 

Cas was slowly removing his trembling hands from his temple to reveal the stark absence of horns. Bald patches were in their place, where hair would eventually grow in. Dean thumbed through his dark hair, careful to avoid the tender, hairless areas.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Yes,” Cas replied, eyes squinting shut. “My body is changing. As I bond to you, I become more human. What does it look like?”

 

“C’mere, there’s a mirror in the employee bathroom.”

 

After a few pained grunts, Cas made it to the bathroom, with a little help from Dean. Supporting himself just enough to not topple Dean over, he turned his head up, down, and to each side. He tried lightly touching the bald spots but hissed and withdrew his hand quickly.

 

“I need to scratch them.”

 

“Don’t touch them,” Dean instructed, swatting open the mirror to reveal a storage cabinet where Bobby placed a first aid kit a long time ago. “I’m gonna put something on them to keep them from itching.”

 

Cas shook his head, not to be contrary, but because it was the only thing he could do to occupy his head that didn’t involve touching it. Dean led him back to their mattress and dabbed an anti-itch cream onto the empty patches, as lightly as possible. Cas bit his lip, willing himself to remain still, but couldn’t stop the occasional whine.

 

“If you’re human enough to not have horns, you might be human enough to respond to medicine.” Dean shook a pain pill out of a paper packet and put it in Cas’ hand. “Swallow that. If you need water, I’ll grab you a bottle from under the —”

 

But Cas got it down in one thick gulp. 

 

Dean raised his brows, but quickly shrugged it off and closed up the first aid kit. Before he could lay it down, Cas was back on him, smashing their mouths together and pulling Dean overtop of him.

 

“No sir,” Dean interrupted, holding onto Cas’ wrists. “You’re in pain. And I bet you haven’t even told me everything.” When Cas dropped his eyes, Dean sighed. “Tell me what else is going on.”

 

“I’ve been cut off from my realm,” Cas supplied, now fully aware he couldn’t pretend with Dean. “I can feel it. I’m the furthest from being an incubus I’ve ever been.”

 

“How’s that feel?”

 

“Like I want to keep going. Please, Dean. We’re so close.”

 

“I will, Cas. I promise. Just tell me what else you’re feeling.” 

 

“It’s fine, I’m… it’s… The little white berry is working.”

 

“That was a pill, and… no, it’s not. They take at least twenty minutes to kick in, and that’s on a good day. So you can either sit here in silence as you wait for the pain to subside, or you can start talking.”

 

Cas deflated at getting caught in a lie. It appeared he wasn’t as well-versed in human customs as he originally thought. Shuffling down, he laid back on his pillow in an effort to get comfortable.

 

“My wings will be the next to go.”

 

Dean’s heart sank. He loved those things.

 

“And then my scales. I will take on the appearance of a human.”

 

“What about your eyes?”

 

Cas offered a little smile. “I do not think you’ll mind the change.”

 

The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up curiously. He found himself fond of the things that made Cas an incubus, but he was excited to know him as Cas the human. At his core, he would always be Cas. No amount of venom or wings or glowing eyes, or lack thereof, could change all the things Dean loved about him. Besides, the things that made Cas a demon were the things that meant he was still a slave. This change was not only thrilling, but hugely metaphorical.

 

Cas turned his world upside down. Drawn to him from the very start, Dean always knew there was something about him. It was magnetic, yet completely at his will. He could have left that Ouija board alone and gone on with life. But by then, he had already made up his mind. He had to have Cas. To this extent, he did not know at the time, but it was massive, cosmic… profound.

 

So no, Dean would not mourn the loss of his horns or wings or the glow in his eyes. Their bond went deeper than that. The love between them meant more than that.

 

“Dean,” Cas continued, “I’m ready now.”

 

After a stubborn exhale, Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

 

“I really do feel better, my love. It didn’t hurt for long.”

 

“Alright, alright. Just… let me know if I need to stop, ‘kay?”

 

“Please stop talking and get inside me.”

 

Dean snorted in laughter. The look Cas shot at him was, quite frankly, offended, but his enthusiasm was the cutest thing Dean had ever seen, not to mention a bit contagious. He kissed the exasperated frown right off Cas’ lips as he straddled his hips.

 

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

 

“If you continue to prolong this wait, I’ll bite you and sit on your dick myself.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Dean said, the remnants of his laughter still evident across his face. “Not if I start doing this.”

 

With his thighs still straddling Cas, Dean flipped onto his back. The sudden change urged Cas into an upright position, and Dean moved down until his face was right above Cas’ butt. He wrapped his arms around Cas’ ass cheeks, spreading them before laying his tongue flat against the tight hole. 

 

He smiled against Cas’ response — a startled yelp and involuntary muscle spasm. Dean was going for the element of surprise and was pleased to have succeeded. Wrapping his arms around Cas, he urged him to sit on his face. He pressed his tongue against Cas’ rim repeatedly, humming contentedly at the noisy breaths Cas was making.

 

When the first bit of tongue slipped in, Cas made the vilest sound Dean had ever gotten out of another person. It was a filthy, tonal groan that reverberated from the deepest parts of Cas’ throat, and it made Dean’s cock tingle with need. Cas could easily get him off with a little twisting and turning, but he tried not to think about it. He needed to focus, dammit.

 

His nails dragged across Cas’ thighs as he tongued deeper, the sounds coming from above both encouraging him and distracting him. His ass was so perfect, shamelessly bouncing on Dean’s face, chasing the feeling of being filled over and over. Dean wanted to say it was okay, to use his tongue like a fuck toy, but he couldn’t imagine stopping long enough to say the words.

 

“Dean… I need… I need,” Cas stuttered between breaths. “Please, please, I need…”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. He was doing so well, and then that beautiful creature had to start using the Magic Word. Pulling on one of Cas’ thighs, he flipped them over again, landing Cas on his back, with Dean’s face between his legs and both of them flushed from the red hot wantonness between them.

 

Leaning to the side, Dean grabbed the lube and popped the cap before smothering it all over his fingers. Cas fell silent, and Dean smiled as he looked down to see the incubus staring at his wet fingers with anticipation. Thumbing the lube on his fingertips to warm it, Dean crawled back over and distracted Cas with kisses to his collarbone and jaw. He previously noted Cas’ favorite spots and played to them as he positioned himself over one thigh.

 

Cas hummed in approval as Dean kissed along his sensitive spots. His chin, the place his jaw met his neck, and the base of his neck, all sparked with new desire in his bones. They were all meant as distractions, of course, to draw attention away from both of their beyond-ready erections, but it only made him desperate for more.

 

Dean watched Cas react triumphantly and paused to circle around Cas’ hole with slicked up fingers. Pausing for a break gave Dean time to compose himself, but he would still need to focus hard to keep from blowing his load just by watching how much Cas was enjoying this. Seeing his pretty mouth falling open to make way for even prettier noises was a sex act in itself. Dean could make a hundred lonely nights worth of spank bank material from just this, and his dick wasn’t even inside Cas yet.

 

Taking a deep breath, Dean pressed in his index finger. It went in easily, so he pushed in to the hilt, quickening his motions with short, deep thrusts. It didn’t make sense, how good it felt for just this tiny bit of him to be inside Cas, but here he was. 

 

“How is that, babe?”

 

“More,” Cas pleaded, pushing down on Dean’s finger. “It’s so good, but Dean… More…”

 

“Alright, alright, bossy britches…”

 

When he inserted his middle finger alongside the first, Cas squirmed below him with a smile. He began moving, pumping in and out while Cas took it so well. His own dick was more than a little hard from watching his fingers disappear into the tight, puckered ass. Cas didn’t even need all this stretching, but it wasn’t going to stop him from giving the same care and attention he would any other partner.

 

Cas felt so good enveloping his fingers like this. Dean watched them move in and out and had to look elsewhere to push away the image of his cock in their place. His eyes moved to Cas’, who was following his motions with enrapturement. A warm feeling spread all over him. He loved him so much. Cas was here, and Cas was his. And Dean couldn’t believe how much he adored him.

 

Adjusting himself a bit lower, Dean took Cas’ length into his mouth again while fingering him. Cas responded with a gratified exhale and a hand in Dean’s hair. In and out, Dean’s fingers thrusted, then curled up, adjusting his movements on every pass, determined to find  _ that spot _ . It didn’t take him long.

 

Cas’ shout was short and punching, like someone had sneaked up on him. Dean committed the place to memory, continuing to lightly graze his prostate on every pass, listening to Cas’ exclamations melt into depraved moans. Every sound made it a little harder for Dean to focus on blowing him, and his own cock rutting against Cas’ leg wasn’t helping.

 

Slipping Cas out of his mouth to watch his reaction, Dean pulled his fingers out with a wet sound, and Cas flashed a disapproving glare — until Dean knelt between his knees. Out of context, the expression erupting across Cas’ face suggested he was just given a season pass to Six Flags, or given two dozen roses, or told he could adopt the puppy he had his eye on. 

Cas was not being a passive recipient in this. He wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist, urging him closer, and hummed happily during the kiss when Dean’s length would rub his or poke between his legs. His arms wandered across Dean’s back, pulling blunt fingertips across skin as his claws receded into harmless fingernails. When Dean’s mouth moved lower, he ran his fingers through his hair, goading him on and shivering when he found  _ that spot _ on his collarbone.

 

Dean took another deep breath before pressing his blunt head to Cas’ entrance. When Cas only responded by tugging him closer, he leaned further in, watching Cas’ face as he sunk deeper and deeper into him. Cas’ eyes sparkled. It was the most beautiful moment Dean had ever known.

 

He was going in easily, but he didn’t rush. The feeling of being swallowed up by Cas’ tight hole, being squeezed and held, made Dean’s cock throb with arousal.  _ Don’t you dare, Winchester. You’re not one of those lame-ass premature ejaculation statistics. Think about something else. Wasps? Horse shit? Fascism?  _ Pausing, he shut his eyes and bit his lip.

 

His difficulty did not go unnoticed. “Dean?”

 

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Hold on, Cas.”

 

Dean could hear the smug grin in Cas’ voice. “No, you hold on.”

 

In one fluid motion, Cas’ legs tightened around Dean’s waist and  _ pulled  _ him the rest of the way in. Dean’s eyes flew open to see his pelvis flush with Cas’, fully seated and too shocked for his downstairs brain to catch up. He glanced up, wide-eyed, to see Cas smirk at him darkly before being overpowered — gripped tight, manhandled and roughly overturned.

 

Thrown against his pillow with Cas now straddling him, Dean glanced around to get his bearings. He was, indeed, looking up at Cas, who moaned with closed eyes as he circled his hips while riding Dean’s dick. He looked even more gorgeous from this angle, in control and taking exactly what he wanted.

 

“It’s even better than I imagined,” Cas said, eyes fluttering open and drinking in all the glory of Dean on his back. “Your cock, Dean. You fill me so well. My beloved. My special human.”

 

Dean ran his fingertips over Cas’ thighs, the motion grounding him in the fact that yes, he really was inside this glorious creature. His ass was so warm and tight and beautiful, Dean could die a happy man right now. But Cas was radiating with lust, and Dean wanted nothing more than to give him what he wanted.

 

“It’s yours, baby. You gonna ride me or do I gotta beg?”

 

Cas leaned forward, nearly slipping out as he got in Dean’s face. “Who’s being bossy?”

 

“Dork.”

 

Cas sat back down, slamming himself onto Dean’s length and earning a surprised groan. He rose and fell in deep, long strokes that built the hunger between them. Closer and closer they moved as two souls stitched into one, their unspoken vows blown through uneven breaths. Cas dipped up and down, face contorting as he discovered new angles with new sensations, his lover’s hips rising to meet the thrusts.

 

“You take my cock so good,” Dean said while gripping onto Cas’ thighs. His fingers would leave marks, but Cas made short, approving sounds every time Dean clenched a little tighter. 

 

“Fuck me,” Cas ordered.

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You heard me. Flip me over and fuck me into this mattress.”

 

“Shit,” Dean hissed as he put his weight on one of Cas’ shoulders and turned them over.

 

They were diagonal on the bed, with Cas’ head dangling off the side, but he was so lovely with his hair mussed and cheeks turning red with blood flow, Dean grasped onto his hips and snapped into him mercilessly. The harder he went, the happier Cas was, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make his mate the happiest person on earth tonight.

 

“You like this?” he prodded. “Me fucking you hard? Putting you in your place?”

 

Cas’ low growl was all the response he needed.

 

“Look at you, spreading your ass wide open for my cock. I’ll make you mine. Fuck you into this floor, like a slutty little succubus.”

 

Cas gasped as the mattress bounced under Dean’s thrusts, eyes darkening to ultraviolet with a lascivious glowing overlay. His nails dug into Dean’s back, clawless but no less fervent, plowing bright red marks and breaking skin in more than one place. He could still smell Dean’s rushing, lust-blown blood. It was obscene and filthy and perfect. He held on, relishing the cock pounding his ass and all the debasing things Dean was saying to him.

 

“That you, huh? Lying on your back, being my succubus bitch?”

 

Dean clenched his jaw after all the dirty talk. He meant it to get to Cas, but it was turning him on just as much. Or maybe it was the way Cas moaned and nodded his head as Dean fucked him over and over, taking him, claiming him, branding him with his cock.

 

“You gonna come on my cock, Castiel? Like one of those humans you used to fuck? Like a little cockslut?”

 

“Yes,” he rasped between erratic breaths. “Yes… Dean... Yes, yes… Please.”

 

“Do it,” Dean gritted. He took Cas’ shaft in his hands, jerking him at the same pace he fucked him. Every plunge into Cas made it harder to hold back, and hearing him say “please” in this context made his shaft tingle and balls tighten. This was it. The home stretch.

 

“Come inside me. Wanna… feel you. Want you to claim me from the inside.”

 

“Oh… my god,” Dean blubbered as he tipped over the edge. Gasping as he spilled his seed into Cas’ waiting ass, he stroked Cas’ length until white spurts of come coated his fist and Cas’ stomach. The heat of orgasm rolled through them, voiding all else from their minds except the carnal hunger devouring them. Stars blinded their vision — entire galaxies — as their souls fastened closer, like two pieces of stardust traveling for eons and billions of miles, just to collide here.

 

Dean collapsed onto Cas’ chest, unwilling to remove himself from that red, open hole and unconcerned with the come smothered between them. He could do nothing — form words, raise his head, nor structure a coherent thought — besides clinging onto Cas’ broad shoulders. His body was numb to all, save the gentle rise and fall of his beloved’s chest. He was drunk on the high. Lost —  and yet, found.

 

Time passed differently after a good fuck. Almost like reality was slightly altered in the wake of their moans and thrusts. Dean wasn’t sure how long they remained tangled in each other’s arms, but by the time he had the strength to peel himself off of Cas, they were a sticky mess and his softened dick slipped out unceremoniously. A white ooze of his spend rolled out of Cas’ red, gaping hole, and he smiled possessively.

 

_ Mine _ , he thought to himself.

 

Dean climbed to the other side of the mattress. Using his shirt from earlier, he wiped himself off and handed it to Cas, who sat up and attended to his own mess. After Cas tossed the shirt aside, Dean curled his hand around the back of Cas’ neck and pulled him in for a kiss. 

 

“You alright?” Dean asked.

 

“Mm-hmm,” Cas hummed, eyes still half-lidded from sheer exhaustion. He grimaced as he shifted his seating upon the mattress.

 

A shit-eating grin crept across Dean’s face. He was a half second away from making a “the soreness is how you know it was good” comment when he rubbed at the base of Cas’ hairline, expecting to feel scales, but found human skin. His mouth fell into an open, worried gape as he ran his hands across his shoulders, realizing he had totally missed the transformation.

 

“Cas?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Your scales.”

 

“Yes, I felt them retract at some point. I think we were both too preoccupied to notice.”

 

Crawling around the mattress, Dean leaned forward to examine Cas’ entire back and gasped at the tan, bare shoulder blades.

 

“Your wings are gone, too.”

 

He didn’t mean for his voice to be that shaky, and he knew it was going to happen, he really did, but nothing could mentally prepare him for this. Cas’ wings were beautiful, and Dean immediately began to miss them. He refrained from reaching out and touching his back.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“It did for a minute, I think,” Cas replied with a thoughtful squint. “It’s all a bit of a blur.”

 

Dean let out a relieved exhale. If Cas was going to change so much in the middle of sex, at least it was good enough to distract him from the pain.

 

“Do you feel any different?” 

 

“Yes, and I will continue to until the bond is complete. I am still technically a demon, although, without my wings and ability to jump realms, I’m at my most vulnerable. We have to stay on schedule, or else others will come looking for me when I fail to report to my next assignment. You are the only one who knows I do not plan on ever going back. If I am late for labor, they will find me and cast me into the Pit. And in my weakened state, I will not survive it. Weaker beings are not built for such a place of torment.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got,” Dean paused to check the time on his phone, “four hours until we need to head for Stull Cemetery.” So the rumors were true. Time really did fly when you’re having fun. “Think you can get to sleep on this rickety old thing?”

 

“It survived quite a bit of abuse,” Cas said, shimmying under the covers. “I should think lying still on it for a few more hours will be comfortable enough.”

 

“You’re not tired?”

 

“I’ve never slept. But considering how close I am to becoming human, I’d say the sensations I’m experiencing would fit the definition of ‘tired.’ I feel like lying down with my eyes closed.”

 

“Yep, you’re tired.”

 

Dean arranged himself under the covers and faced Cas, both of them resting their heads on their respective pillows. It was a tight fit, but they didn’t mind. Dean kept the shop moderately cool, so sharing body heat was a welcomed concept. He searched Cas’ face for any sign of discomfort but blinked heavily when the glow in Cas’ eyes began to shift.

 

“Cas, your eyes.”

 

“I can feel it. It’s all a part of the change, my love.” Cas kept his eyes on Dean, so he could witness the change taking place. “Don’t be afraid, Dean. It doesn’t hurt.”

 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as the glowing incubus blue swirled around, its luminescence spiraling alongside deep sapphire. The dark, human color slowly swallowed the unearthly bright light, until Dean was staring into a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

 

“Woah,” he huffed breathlessly. He took Cas’ face in his hands, never wanting for one moment for either of them to look away, or blink, or not be in each others’ sight. He never wanted to stop looking at his  _ fucking gorgeous eyes _ .

 

“Do you… do you like them?” Cas asked self-consciously.

 

“Do I like them?” Dean echoed. “They look like the friggin’ ocean, Cas. Like I could dive in and drown in them. They’re amazing.”

 

Cas shyly looked down, but Dean tilted his head back up. The corners of Cas’ mouth turned up in a chary smile. “I was so worried you’d hate them.”

 

“No way, are you kidding? Sometimes, when you were like, really really turned on, your eyes would flash this color. And I’d wonder if that’s what they looked like under all the glowiness.”

 

Cas’ stunning, big blue eyes got even bigger. “They did?”

 

“Hell yeah, it was wild,” Dean said with a reflective smile. “It was my favorite way to see your eyes. And now I get to see them like that all the time. How’s that for a win?”

 

Tension visibly left Cas’ shoulders as he exhaled. He looked off, mouth opening and closing, as if warring with himself against saying more. Dean noted it and ran his thumb across Cas’ worried bottom lip.

 

“Talk to me, Castiel.”

 

Before responding, Cas puckered his lips around Dean’s thumb. It was just a small thing, but it kinda made Dean want to jump back on him. Forcing himself to desist, Dean swallowed a sinful groan and tenderly ran his kissed thumb across Cas’ cheek.

 

“When I was created, it was amid the crashing waves and tumultuous storms of the Atlantic Ocean.” Cas swallowed timidly. “The color you see now, from the water. The glow from before, from bolts of lightning rolling through rain clouds.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open. Under the sheets, his dick began to revive at the rumble of Cas’ voice in conjunction with the story of his origin.

 

“So you’re telling me,” he concluded, “that you were made from the ocean. And that’s why your eyes are that shade of blue.”

 

Cas nodded. 

 

“My god, that’s so fuckin’ hot.” Dean cradled Cas’ head in his palm as he pressed their lips together. He still couldn’t bear to live one moment not looking at Cas’ eyes, and kept his own eyes fixed on them. This close, he could see the tiny flecks of black and gradations of shades of blue, all coming together to form a color more breathtaking than Dean could ever dream up.

 

“Is that why your voice sounds like a pissed off wave swallowing up a pirate ship?”

 

Cas’ lips pursed together cheekily, as if getting caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “It was a Pilgrim ship, actually.”

 

“Fuck,” Dean muttered under his breath as he rolled on top of Cas, taking both of their lengths in his hands and working them over. Rubbing together in Dean’s caring fists, it took a few calculated strokes to get them to full hardness. “You, Cas, my soul bondmate… were made out of a hurricane. A  _ hurricane _ .” He shook his head in awe. “I really wanna fuck you again.”

 

Cas’ deep blue eyes goaded him on. “Then do it.”

 

And so, he did. He rocked into Cas slow and steady, until they were both panting and sweating and screaming. He bit his lip smugly as Cas begged him to go faster, making him wait to come until he said so. He fucked him mercilessly fast for the last two minutes, holding off his own orgasm until Cas was spurting all over himself and Dean’s name was the only word he could remember.

 

In the aftermath, Dean tossed a roll of toilet paper from the supply closet onto the bed. “We should probably just keep this in here,” he suggested as Cas tore off a handful to clean himself. He collapsed next to Cas and yawned. “For the record, I am never going to get tired of doing that.”

 

“Although I appreciate your stamina, you should get some sleep. Only a couple more hours until it’s time to begin our journey to meet Rowena.”

 

Dean couldn’t stop the smile moving across his face just from thinking about the ritual. It was hours away. He could barely contain his excitement. If he hadn’t just exerted even more energy, he might not have been able to sleep. Turning over, he clicked his lamp off and double-checked his alarm.

 

“Goodnight, Cas.”

 

“Goodnight, Dean.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this AMAZING incubus!Cas art on Tumblr, which just-a-sketchbook made just for this story. I am blown away... it's so gorgeous! Thank you thank you !!!! I'm fangirling all over the place!
> 
> [Click here to see!](https://just-a-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/183741830288/this-was-inspired-by-deans-jiggly-pudding-s-fic)


	21. At the Altar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are on their way to Stull Cemetery to solidify their soulbond when a single phone call changes the course of their day, and possibly, their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review warnings below if any of my Additional Tags (the list at the top after Character Tags) are triggering to you.  
> Skip if you like surprises!
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- transphobia and homophobia  
> \- dirty cop  
> \- religious trauma  
> \- basically just a lot of horrible stuff

“I don't believe this is the correct direction.” Cas was clothed in Dean’s choices for the occasion: new jeans and a black shirt that was just a tiny bit too tight on his muscular shoulders. They were on a schedule, but Cas was  _ so damn hot _ in human getup, Dean dropped to his knees at least once before beginning their long walk.

 

“You’re right,” Dean admitted as they traversed the suburban road that was so familiar to him. “I’m taking the scenic route.”

 

Although they had several options on how to travel to Stull Cemetery, to Dean only one would do. Sure, they could have taken the bus and then hitchhiked, but that was too risky for their schedule. They could have used an Uber, but that was so ordinary, which didn’t fit the occasion. So on they walked, further and further into the quaint neighborhood with shuttered windows and white picket fences.

 

“If I’m interpreting the time correctly, we hardly have time to allow aesthetic to influence our trip…”

 

“I know. Which is why we’re not traveling the whole way on foot.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

They took a left at a street sign. “Look ahead, Cas, and tell me if you recognize anything.”

 

When Cas took the time to take in his surroundings, his eyes widened in realization. Seeing it from this perspective was vastly different than flying in the veil overhead, but their location was clear as day. In the distance, the Winchester’s house sat neatly amid a row of other homes, with the black Chevy Impala in the driveway.

 

Dean smiled peacefully at Cas’ surprise. Without Benny’s watchful eye over the past few days, Dean might not have been able to pull this one off. His old buddy agreed to scout the area, making sure Gordon wasn’t in the habit of scouring the roads between Dean’s auto shop and childhood home. Apparently, Gordon had eased up on his search and moved on to bigger business opportunities when Dean disappeared to the Roadhouse frequently enough to become hard to find.

 

Knowing he was going home, even just for a few minutes, brought back Christmas memories. That mysterious envelope Sam gave him. Before leaving the shop that morning, Dean opened it. That crazy kid had given him a credit card. He wouldn’t just give him a random stranger’s card — Sam was no idiot — which meant he had delved into the credit card scamming business. 

 

He always knew the kid had a few secrets of his own.

 

Where the hell he learned to do that was a question for another time. His brother explicitly stated to use it when he needed it, and with Cas as vulnerable as he was, now was as good of a time as ever. Dean couldn’t think of the first thing he’d purchase with the damn thing, but surely the need would arise.

 

He could rent his mom and brother a hotel room for months on end, just to get them away from their home life. He could buy a car, house, a freaking boat, just to make his and Cas’ life a little more cushy. 

 

But he would think of that tomorrow. Today, he had an appointment.

 

“Dean, is this safe?”

 

“Nah,” he shrugged. “But today is the annual sunrise service, followed by the regular service, followed by a potluck, followed by the evening service. I always hated it. They’ll be gone all friggin’ day. And as usual, they took the van. Which gives us…”

 

The corners of Cas’ mouth turned up. “The car.”

 

“Yahtzee,” Dean said as they passed the mailbox. “Ever since my dad let me drive her, I imagined taking off from my wedding in it. Into the sunset with the love of my life. What we have is even better, so I figured, hey, why the hell not.”

 

Instead of going straight for the car, Dean led Cas to the front door. The keys Sam gave him dangled on a shop keychain, and he opened the door for Cas while taking in the smell of the house. It was empty but gave a burst of nostalgia as he inhaled his mom’s cinnamon candle, unlit but strong enough to give off an aroma without flame. 

 

He glanced into the living room. The tree, stockings, and every other holiday decoration was put away. He took Cas’ hand and led him into the kitchen, where a plateful of banana nut muffins sat covered in plastic wrap. He peeled a corner off and took out two.

 

“Pretty soon you’re gonna start getting hungry like a human, so you might as well start eating like one.”

 

Cas took the food he was offered and followed Dean’s example as he took off the paper first, then took a bite. He hummed in delight at the various flavors and textures the bread offered. Dean never did steer him wrong in terms of taste.

 

Dean was more than halfway through his when his phone’s ringer tore him out of his sentimental meeting with the fruit of his mother’s hands. Hurrying to finish chewing, he took his phone out of his pocket, only to noticeably tense up when he saw the caller ID.

 

“She shouldn’t be calling me,” he mumbled before answering. “Charlie?”

 

“Dean, this is bad. This is so effin’ bad.”

 

“What’s bad? Where are you? What’s going on?”

 

“He’s sending me away! Oh my god, Dean. He’s sending me away!”

 

“What are you talking about? Hold on.” Dean tossed the rest of his breakfast into the trash and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “Just... tell me where you are.”

 

“My dad signed me up for the church’s school at the last minute and they found out and now he’s sending me away!”

 

“Your dad signed you up… What? Charlie, you’re not making any sense.”

 

“For the school! He pulled me out of public school between semesters, and he filled out all the papers without me knowing. He enrolled me in the church school.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Dean repeated, trying his damndest to keep up. “He enrolled you. Then what?”

 

“Dean,” Charlie’s voice cracked. “He checked off ‘male’ for my gender.”

 

All the color drained from Dean’s face. They had already discussed how thin a line they were walking by helping her get into proper clothes and the correct side in teen church. Charlie had been so careful — she hid all her things, changed in the bathroom — but abruptly switching schools was something neither of them could have predicted.

 

Their first meeting flashed before his eyes. How unhappy she was living in a houseful of people who didn’t take her seriously. How she came out of her shell as soon as she found a tribe of real friends. How careful she needed to be. How careful she was. She did everything right. She protected herself by keeping her church clothes hidden. Although out to her parents, she chose her battles, opting to roll her eyes every time they misgendered her instead of putting herself in a conversation that could prove hazardous to her safety.

 

But this was a massive, explosive curveball that caused her whole world to crash around her. Her dad nonchalantly filled out a few pages of paperwork, which included checking off one of two boxes. He checked off the gender Charlie was assigned at birth; turned in the enrollment papers to the principal, which happened to be Dean’s dad; Brother Zeke, being involved with the teens, got wind of Charlie’s application and probably did a double take at the checkmark before touching base with Mr. Bradbury.

 

Mr. Bradbury tells Zeke he has a son. Zeke tells Mr. Bradbury about Charlie sneaking around behind his back. All hell breaks loose.

 

“Shit, Charlie, shit,” Dean hissed, dragging Cas back out the door by his arm. “Where are you now?”

 

“I don’t know. They put me on a church bus,” she sobbed.

 

In the background, a shrill voice hollered, “ _ No cell phones! Put that away! _ ”

 

“They’re taking me to a conversion camp,” she hurried, breathing hard as she climbed over bus seats. “I don’t know which one. Dean, please help me. Oh my god. I’m so scared.”

 

“Fucking Christ, Charlie.” Dean ran his hand across his face before whipping the keys back out and unlocking the car door. “I’ll find you. I swear to fucking everything. I won’t let them —”

 

_ “Hey, you! Give me that phone! I said, give it to me now!” _

 

“I’ve been on the bus for maybe half an hour... There’s like, nothing, only the road, and cows… Oh god, Dean please find me, I’m freaking out right now! This is so bad, I don’t want them to hurt me, I’m — ”

 

Dean pressed the phone closer to his ear, but the line went dead. “Charlie?” he asked, knowing it was useless, but hoping against all hope she’d answer. Heart hammering in his throat, he fell into the driver’s seat and unlocked the passenger door. Cas slipped in and Dean started her up, not waiting for the engine to warm up before backing out of the driveway.

 

“Cas, go on that blog and tell Rowena an emergency came up,” he instructed, handing his phone over.

 

Cas took longer than Dean wanted, but it was still faster — and safer — than he could have done while driving. After he sent the message, he nodded at Dean, awaiting the next plan of action.

 

“Now do a search,” Dean said, pointing to the web browser. Cas tapped it and brought up the keyboard. “Look up ‘conversion therapy camps near me’.”

 

It didn’t take long. Mere seconds, albeit longer than either had patience for. Dean fidgeted with the steering wheel while Cas hurriedly typed, deleting misspellings as he went. He read the search results aloud, naming the counties as he went down the list. Dean did mental math with each camp name, calculating distance and topography, not wasting a single second longer than necessary, and jumped in as soon as Cas named a place that fit Charlie’s description.

 

“That’s the one,” Dean interrupted. “It’s gotta be. That area is about an hour out from her place, and it’s smack dab in the middle of nothing but a bunch of cattle farms.”

 

Dean’s gut feeling about Back to the Fold Men’s Camp was too strong to ignore. It didn’t hurt that it met all the criteria, either, but his thoughts had shifted to the sole task of getting Charlie back, so there was no time for celebration. Knowing where she was being taken was only half the battle, and he knew far better than to get cocky.

 

As the traffic light turned from yellow to red, Dean swerved onto the main road that left town.

 

“Has Rowena said anything back?”

 

“Not yet,” Cas replied, sitting back up from being thrown around without his seatbelt. “I sent another message, telling her where we’re headed.”

 

“Ok?” It was more of a question than a statement, as if waiting for clarification. “And put your seatbelt on.”

 

Cas complied, grappling the seatbelt with one hand as he clutched the phone. “She’s going out of her way to send a witch to help us. I figure she’d want to relay the information. I’ll message her again once I know what time we’ll make it to the cemetery.”

 

“Cas, I’m real sorry,” Dean sighed. “We’re gonna be in and out in a flash. I promise.”

 

“An apology is not needed. Charlie is important to you, which makes her important to me.”

 

A sigh of relief left Dean’s parted lips. The distance between his family home and here had happened inordinately fast — too fast for Dean to register that he hadn’t given Cas much of a say in the matter. Although, given the current tug of their bonded souls, maybe he was wrong.

 

Maybe Cas’ support bled into their bond and strengthened Dean’s resolve. Maybe it helped him make that split-second decision and single out the camp in question. It was all so fluid, so effortless, having a soulmate standing by him, both in body and spirit. 

 

He could definitely get used to that feeling.

 

A police siren wiped Dean’s thanks off his lips. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see flashing lights and an unfamiliar cop. “Great,” he grumbled as he pulled over. He wasn’t sure if praying would help him now, but it was worth a shot.  _ Please let them be on Sheriff Mill’s side, please, please _ …

 

The officer’s walk from the cop car to the Impala was the longest five seconds of Dean’s life. He pretended not to follow their movements from his side mirror, absently tapping the window he had already rolled down. He flashed a quick smile at Cas, which was supposed to be reassuring, but he feared it came across as nervous instead.

 

“License and registration,” the police officer requested. 

 

He seemed level-headed enough. Hand on his duty belt, reciting the lines, just like the rest of them. Bald and a bit heavy. Dean eased up as he handed over both things, still too anxious to speak unless asked a question. At least Cas seemed unconcerned, although he probably didn’t know the hit that was out on Dean.

 

“Do you know why I pulled you, sonny?”

 

Ah, the classic  _ please incriminate yourself _ line. “No, sir.” Dean was not in the right frame of mind to deal with the ramifications of a smart ass reply, so he left it at that.

 

“You ran right through that red light back there,” the officer supplied. “And your friend wasn’t buckled up.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure why he tossed his head to the side to inspect Cas, who had indeed, buckled up, but not before the police caught him. He looked back around with his bottom lip between his teeth and awaited the inevitable last nail in the coffin. He knew it was coming; he just wasn’t sure in which order he’d give it to him.

 

“And you were going mighty fast, too. You in a hurry, Mister… Dean Winchester?”

 

Dean looked between the cop and his license from which he was reading his name, lips pursing amid a noncommittal nod. “Sorry about that, sir. I’m kinda in a rush.”

 

“Well, your little appointment is going to have to wait.” His tone was patronizing and bristling and Dean hated it. “Mind stepping out of the car for me?”

 

His fingers stopped tapping. His breath hitched as he narrowed his eyes at the officer’s insouciant request, thinking about all the reasons that was a terrible idea. Alarms went off in his mind. This was bad. This was extremely bad. Barney Fife had the upper hand and he was onto him.

 

“Am I allowed to pass?” 

 

The cop’s facial expression said enough, but it was just the beginning of his reply — and of Dean’s trouble. He felt ill under the officer’s scrutinizing gaze, all color leaving his face as the verdict came down, swift and ruthless.

 

“Not under exigent circumstances,” the man snapped before swinging the door open and lunging in head first.

 

Dean thrashed around with the cop practically in his lap, fighting over the seatbelt with Cas jumping in to claw at the intruder. Before he could get his newly human nails deep into the officer’s back, a deputy watching from the passenger side joined the fight and yanked Cas away.

 

The four men struggled, uncivil punches and kicks rocking the car as the clueless world went on around them. “Cas, run!” Dean yelled as he was dragged out of the car and onto his stomach. 

 

“Your daddy’s been lookin’ all over for you,” the officer said as he cuffed Dean. “Guess I’ll have to add ‘resisting arrest’ to the list, too. And does he know you’re driving around in his car?”

 

Dean squirmed as the man pulled him up roughly by his arm. “Please, don’t do this. My friend is in trouble. And Sheriff Mills told you to leave me alone!”

 

“Sheriff Mills ain’t offering me the cash Pastor Winchester is.”

 

“Aw, hell,” Dean whined. From where he was being detained against his own car, he could see Cas being ambushed by at least four cops who were responding to the call for backup. He was putting up quite a fight, and would have broken free no problem, had he been at full incubus power. 

 

“Who’s your friend, Dean?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Very well,” the officer sighed with a sharp twist of the cuffs, which forced a long, pained groan out of Dean. “Time to go see dear ol’ dad.”

 

“He’s in the middle of a church service…”

 

“Then I reckon you’ll make quite the entrance.”

 

* * *

 

_ Church is a hospital, not a hotel _ , John Winchester would say. A haven for broken souls to heal, a rest for the weary, and a lighthouse for all the world to see. It was supposed to be a quick stop for spiritual food, before going out and making the world a better place. He said it was a comfort, a feast of truth, a place where one could simply be, without fear.

 

Why then was Dean on the verge of real, actual tears and in the heart of the worst panic of his life?

 

The vestibule full of paintings depicted martyrs dying for the faith, but all Dean could see were the painted crowds of people with fists in the air and hate in their eyes. The space was airy and clean, but to Dean, it was suffocating. Every step toward the sanctuary was another foot closer to his doom. He was led like a lamb to slaughter. 

 

The full extent of his nightmarish reality hit him as he looked into the glass window separating him from the congregation’s onslaught of disapproving gazes. This was no hospital — it was human experimentation. A red room, not a lighthouse. A circus ring in which he would be ogled and pointed at and the curtain was about to be lifted.

 

Dean was so completely, utterly fucked.

 

“...Neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment, for all that do so are an —” John halted mid-verse as the cop burst into the sanctuary with Dean in tow. Dean held his breath as his father glared at him, awaiting the next word of Deuteronomy 22:5 with anticlimactic expectancy. It came, as John cleared his throat to speak pointedly. “...Abomination.”

 

Every eye was on Dean by now. Obviously. Hauled down the aisle by his cuffed wrists, he scanned the room to see every person he ever knew, their expressions ranging from shocked to disgusted and every sentiment in between.

 

In the back sat the Corbett family, where most of them leered with disdain, while Alan offered Dean a sympathetic frown. Mick Davies and Ms. Bevell stared blankly, while Mrs. Tran and Kevin furrowed their brows but were otherwise unreadable. Dean glanced to his right and saw Chuck Shurley, Meg Masters, and Jo, all of whom shared a common look of dread. In the front row sat Tessa, smug as could be, along with Becky Rosen and Brother Zeke.

 

Lastly, he looked at his dad, who was looming over him from the platform. Dean stopped at the altar, where the cop held him steady against one last tug against the cuffs. He set his jaw and waited as the intense glare John gave him made the seconds drag by like molasses.

 

“Good to see you in the house of God this morning, Dean,” the pastor addressed coolly.

 

The omission of the word “son” was not lost on him. It cut to his heart more than he cared to admit, but he maintained his best poker face. He thought about snapping back with a “Mornin’, Dad” but he couldn’t think of a single way that would work in his favor, so he stood wordlessly.

 

“Found him with another boy,” the police officer interjected. “Quite the feisty fella, but I had a feeling you’d appreciate two-for-one.”

 

Dean’s heart sank as he looked over his shoulder to see Cas being hefted in inside a heavy-duty carry crate like some kind of animal. Four officers hauled him in, one at each corner, while Cas sat still, fingers clinging to the bars and eyes fixed on Dean. He was scared. Dean felt an overwhelming urge to rush them, but he was massively outmanned.

 

“Thank you, officer,” John commended. “Please uncuff him and let the boy out of the cage. The money will be wired to you first thing tomorrow morning. Unless you prefer a check.”

 

“But pastor, they’ll get away.”

 

“No, they won’t.” John stood beside the podium and stared a hole into Cas. “Because if Dean tries, his  _ partner  _ is getting sent to camp.”

 

Dean’s hair stood on end at the tone in which his dad said the sentence, as well as the threat itself. He hated the way his dad was looking at Cas, and anger rose in his gut as he struggled to keep a neutral face. His shoulders slumped as his arms fell free of the cuffs. He looked back up, physically boundless but more trapped than ever.

 

“You want to tell us all who this is, Dean?” John asked with pithy resonance typical of a sermon.

 

Feeling a presence on his left, Dean turned his head to see Cas. He could tell by the broody glint in his dad’s eyes that he recognized the person beside him. He was doing this just to fuck with him. To make an attempt at humiliation. In a brief burst of impertinence, Dean decided that two could play.

 

“This is Cas,” he complied, turning to face the congregation and laying his hand on Cas’ back to encourage him to follow suit. The cops were gone. You could hear a pin drop. And for all the times he was the subject of all eyes on him, throughout countless illustrations and impromptu testimonies, this was different. This was invasive, deprecating. He could physically feel the congregants taking apart his every word. “He’s my boyfriend.”

 

It was then that Dean caught a glance at Sam. At first squinting in bewilderment, the teen’s face gradually turned an alarming shade of pink and his mouth fell open. His eyes opened wide as recognition swept over him. That was the exact moment Sam realized where he had seen Cas before, and Dean knew it.

 

Maybe someday Dean could have the chance to explain himself to his brother. He looked to Sam’s side and saw their mom, biting her lip nervously and eyes glazing over with ready tears. Dean couldn’t recall a moment in his life she looked so afraid for him. She was usually like solid steel. It was where he got his game face. Seeing her like this was unnerving, so he looked away.

 

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen here,” John stated flatly. “You are going to renounce your relationship with this boy. You are going to repent of your sins and give testimony before the church. And then you’re going to go home with us, cleansed in the blood and a new man. I will forgive you for stealing my car, and you will —”

 

“No!” Dean shouted.

 

“Excuse me, young man?”

 

Dean whipped around, stomping up the steps and getting in his dad’s face. He was close enough to the mic that his voice boomed across the sanctuary, but he didn’t speak any quieter. “Let me tell  _ you  _ what’s going to happen.” His voice shook, but he pointed a finger to make up for the lack of intimidation. “You’re gonna call off the hit you put out on me. You’re gonna leave me the hell alone. Let Cas go, and get Charlie off that damn bus.”

 

John raised his chin as a brow quirked up. “Ah, so you’ve heard he’s off to camp.”

 

“ _ She _ is off to camp.”

 

John chuckled. “I was just addressing this to the congregation today. Such a shame you couldn’t have made it for the opening verses. God’s word has much to say on the subject. And in a situation this severe, it’s only right that  _ he  _ be sent somewhere designed for… corrective measures.”

 

Dean’s neck grew hot with every word. He clenched his fists, willing himself against throwing punches right there, right then. He thought about Cas. He had to hold it together for Cas. And Charlie, if Dean could play his cards right.

 

“Charlie is confused,” John continued, sounding like he was repeating something he rehearsed earlier. “Not to be brash, but all one has to do is look into one’s own pants. It’s that simple, folks! Charlie was born with boy parts.”

 

“Just like I was born your son,” Dean deadpanned. “A lot has changed since then, too... Pastor.”

 

People whispered amongst themselves in the pews. For the first time since Dean entered the room, John’s aloof demeanor faltered. He swallowed, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s loaded implication.

 

“I’m not wrong, though,” Dean continued. “I’m no son to you. Not anymore. Isn’t that right?”

 

John composed himself. “Not until you’re right with God again.”

 

“So send me instead.”

 

The congregation’s chatter tapered off into an uncomfortable silence. Dean felt Cas’ hand slip into his, and he took it. He couldn’t give two fucks about what his dad would say about that, as he knew the feeling would soon be gone.

 

John scoffed. “What?”

 

“You heard me. You bring Charlie back and you send me to that electroconvulsive hellhole instead. You know you want to, you sick bastard. You’ve been wanting to ever since you caught me with Cas.”

 

“John,” a stern feminine voice spoke up from the crowd. Dean turned to see his mom standing, knuckles white from gripping the pew in front of her. “Let him go. Let everyone go. Just let them be.”

 

“I can’t do that, Mary.”

 

“Why not? Ruling everyone’s lives with an iron fist isn’t helping anything. Just because you don’t have total control —”

 

“Enough!” he bellowed, startling Mary to the point of shaking. “Sit.”

 

Her wavering was evident, both in her body and on her face. Shifting around on her feet, she warred between giving in and remaining upright. Her knees bent at one point and she bit her lip. After several seconds of consideration, she let go of the pew in front of her and straightened her back.

 

“No.”

 

John blinked. “No?”

 

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going to sit here while you do this to our son.”

 

“You would bring disgrace upon this family? A woman usurping authority in church! I expect better out of you, Mary. Be reasonable.”

 

“Come on, Sam,” she mumbled, gathering her things. “We need to go.”

 

Dean exhaled in relief as they scooted out of the pew. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and he had no clue where they were going without the financial stability John gave them, but they were leaving. They were really getting out. He couldn’t be more proud of his mom if she had just won a Nobel Peace Prize.

 

“Dean, come with me,” she said, extending her arm.

 

When Dean took an instinctual step forward, his dad barred his arm across his chest, bringing him to a halt. “I like Dean’s deal better. If my deacons could come to the front, please.”

 

“No,” she blurted as several men pushed past her.

 

The deacons swarmed Dean and Cas, pulling them apart as they called out for each other. It took several of them to subdue Cas, while John and Brother Zeddmore held onto Dean. He looked back for Cas, who was being dragged down the aisle towards the vestibule.

 

“Escort him to the city limits,” John directed. “Call off the bus carrying Charlie Bradbury. Dean has made his bed, and now he will lie in it.”

 

“Mom, go!” Dean yelled before the two men linking arms with him walked down the steps. He stumbled, relying on them for stability as they continued on without much care for his missteps. Grateful that his mom and brother honored his last wish, he watched them take off out the side door as the rest of the congregation dispersed in a frenzy.

 

Cas looked back one last time before being shoved through the sanctuary doors. He was still fighting, the stubborn thing, and Dean loved him even more for it. He loved him even though he wasn’t sure if he would ever see Cas again, in this life or the next, given the limbo in which they were both caught. Cas needed to fully transform to be safe, and where Dean was going, he couldn’t give that to him.

 

“I love you,” he said in Cas’ direction, and he wasn’t even sure if it was a scream or a whisper. Every sound was blurry, like listening underwater, and slow motion ruled every damning step they took. Every time the men holding Dean took a stride, it was closer to the place he swore he’d never go, the place he had been avoiding this whole time.

 

He didn’t recall being hauled onto the church bus, or sat down, or driven away with Brother Zeddmore at the wheel and John Winchester in another seat. Dean rubbed his head, still at a loss for what exactly happened between then and now, and how much time had passed. Growing up, he heard stories of how people’s brains would block out chunks traumatizing time; maybe it was happening now.

 

“I’m trying to help you. You know that, right?”

 

The voice was coming from his father. Dean raised his head to see him sitting across from him, one foot across his knee and arms crossed. It was the fatherly  _ I know what’s best for you -  _ stance. Dean rolled his eyes, because why the hell not. He was disowned, anyway.

 

“They’re going to hurt me. You know that, right?”

 

He wasn’t even sure why he was still trying at this point. It was no use building a case when he was already sentenced. It sounded desperate, like a criminal trying to talk down the lawman. And Dean had no more energy to explain why nothing was wrong with him. He owed nothing to this man, so maybe it wasn’t desperation. Maybe it was one last plea to appeal to his father’s compassion.

 

“I’m doing this because I love you,” John reeled off the canned phrase. “I want you to get better.”

 

Dean shook his head, tears threatening his eyes. “I’m not sick.”

 

“Yes, you are. But don’t worry, we’ll get this demon of homosexuality cast out.”

 

Sighing sharply, Dean suppressed the urge to make a snide comment along the lines of  _ Oh a gay demon has been inside me, alright, but not in the way you’re imagining!  _ Still, the thought sparked a weak smirk across his cheek, and he turned to look out the window.

 

“Something funny?”

 

“Nope, it’s nothing,” Dean replied, not bothering with the courtesy of facing his father while talking to him. The roads were so narrow and dirty, and Charlie was right... there were a lot of cows. The horizon stretched as far as the eye could see. It was probably pretty out here at night, which Dean realized he would find out sooner than later. His stomach twisted into a knot.

 

Cas.

 

He put a hand to the cold glass, feeling the vibrations of the bus and the weak heating vent coughing up warm air, and cried. He took deep breaths so his shoulders wouldn’t shake under his sobs. He waited until the bus rolled over a particularly noisy pothole before he sniffed, refusing to draw attention to himself. He could see his reflection, even as dirty as the window was, and counted the tear trails as they marked his cheeks.

 

This was his fault. Dean should have been more careful in his dad’s car. Hell, Dean shouldn’t have even taken the damn thing. It was a stupid, romantic thing to do. He should have known by now that anything sweet and cute he tried would bite him in the ass. Cas was being dropped off at the edge of town, all alone, without a friend in the world. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. That was on him.

 

Cas was wingless, unable to teleport, and soon to be late for work. He would be hunted down, likely by Jervis sympathizers, and thrown into a torture chamber from which there would be no escape. Cas was unequipped for jumping between realms, much less escaping one, and it was all on Dean. He put his dick in Cas; he took away his powers; Cas was endangered and it was Dean’s fault.

 

On the other side of the road, another vehicle approached from afar. Dean ran his sleeve over his face and turned his attention ahead. As the two vehicles approached each other, he noticed that it was a bus, and not just any. It was the other church bus, carrying Charlie away from the camp as Dean’s bus carried him towards it.

 

“Charlie,” Dean breathed as he jumped to the other side of seats so he could see her as she passed by. Maybe he had been fucked over so many times to the point of constant skepticism, but he had to see her with his own eyes. He had to make sure she was really on that bus, headed home. He had to know his dad wasn’t a total douche and was honoring the deal.

 

A huge sigh of relief left his lungs when he saw Charlie sitting with her arms resting on the seat, looking his way. Her eyes flew open when she caught sight of him, and in a split second, she was clamoring while shoving her fists against the window. Her voice was drowned out by the rumbling bus engines, but Dean could read her lips.

 

_ Dean! Oh my god! Dean, no… Stop! Stop the bus! _

 

She dragged the window sill down on its hinges, but before she could stick any part of her out of the bus, a chaperone pulled her away from the window. Her faint cry was the last thing Dean heard before being drowned out once again by the loud engines plowing over gravel roads. Although at peace with taking her place, he was saddened this was the way she had to find out.

 

“Almost there,” John noted with a quick glance at his watch. “This is your last chance to renounce your relations with that boy.”

 

Dean glared at him from his new spot, hands still splayed on the glass and eyes still red. “Never.”

 

John gave a short nod. “Then you’ll have to walk into that camp willingly. Charlie’s underage and didn’t get a choice. You, on the other hand, are almost nineteen. Adults have to go out of their own free will.”

 

“So I can just… fuck outta there as soon as the bus stops?”

 

“Not if you want Cas to walk away free,” John replied without missing a beat. He held up his cell phone. “My deacons are holding him at the edge of town, and are awaiting my command. As soon as you give your signature of consent to the camp counselors, Cas walks. If you open your mouth and say you don’t wanna be there, they won’t make you stay. But Cas comes here instead.”

 

Dean swallowed hard. The sick feeling returned as he buried his head in his arms, leaning across the wobbly bus seat. Of fucking course his dad would push an unconscionable contract. Dean never did have a choice while under John’s rule, and this was its peak. If Dean wanted the people he loved to have anything, he had to have nothing.

 

And so he sat, escape ideas racing through his mind. Guilt eating him alive. He could’ve left his best friend when she needed him the most and been on schedule with Cas, or this. He couldn’t have one fucking win. 

 

So he sat, that old familiar despair rising into his throat and breaking free in a shaky breath. If only this, if only that. Things that were too late to change. Ideas that were actually pretty awesome, but ruined by a handful of truly awful people.

 

So he sat as they passed an old wooden sign with faded lettering, while John stated the obvious.

 

“We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a surprise. MORE CAS FAN ART!! This is from when he puts on human clothes and is sooo not amused at the sensation. I love this!!
> 
> See it [here](https://deans-jiggly-pudding.tumblr.com/post/183780637678/fan-art-for-the-offering-by-babysnotaprop-which)


	22. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the place of Cas and Charlie, Dean has offered himself up to sign his name on the dotted line at conversion therapy camp. He wastes no time looking for a way out, but with Cas late for work, powerless, and alone, will he be too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of things to say about conversion/reparative therapy. I'm disgusted that this practice still exists; I'm angry that it's illegal for minors in only a few states (it should be illegal everywhere); and I'm disappointed that some people think this is somehow okay.
> 
> For anyone unfamiliar with this grossly unscientific practice, conversion therapists have been known to use talk therapy, electric shock treatments, induced nausea, or vomiting when their patients have "same sex erotic" thoughts. It's harmful, needless, and inhumane... not to mention the total lack of actual scientific backing. It's fraud if you treat someone for a condition that doesn't exist, and being gay is NOT a medical condition, therefore there is NOTHING TO TREAT.
> 
> If you are LGBTQA+, you were already born without flaw. There is nothing wrong with you. 
> 
> When conversion therapy first started in the mid-19th century, being gay was considered a criminal act. Yet, the only criminal act I see stemming from this mindset is the harm that has been done by ignorant, hateful people. Whether or not you've had experiences that mirror what you're about to read, you need to know just how much I hate the concept of attempting to change a piece of someone's identity. You are perfect just the way you are.
> 
> If you've been in a setting like Dean is currently in, I see you. I hear you. I love you. What they did to you, what they said to you and about you, and what they're still doing to you by way of post-traumatic stress, is wrong. You didn't deserve that. You deserve to be happy and live as your most authentic self, and I'm sorry someone tried to take that from you. If you're still recovering, you're doing great. Keep going.
> 
> As for this chapter, Dean is going to be an ornery little shit and rile some people up, so prepare yourselves. Hey, he tried being nice and that didn't work. What are you gonna do. Also, I don't claim to be an expert on how camps like these go; this is a work of fiction, though based loosely on known concepts.
> 
> More chapter warnings below; otherwise, see you at the end of the chapter. I usually say "enjoy the chapter", buuuuuut....... this one is pretty heavy. If you stick with me, I'll put you back together again in time for the ending Cas and Dean deserve. For realsies :)
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> \- homophobia like whoa  
> \- no seriously, it's awful  
> \- homophobic slur (c***s***er)  
> \- torture (because let's just call it what it really is)  
> \- violence  
> \- religious abuse, brainwashing, indoctrination

As dust kicked up under the bus wheels, Dean’s resolve to stay civil was rapidly diminishing. Reasons for upholding his manners were running dry, and it wasn’t just because every last person he loved had been taken from him. The pastor and his goons were unapologetic, ruthless; after their words and actions, Dean didn’t owe them a single “please” or “thank you”, yet somehow the  _ do unto others _ rule was still massively one-sided. 

 

Not only was he expected to give up his mate and future, but his dignity, too. It was unfair on every level. It was a bad deal. But it wasn’t like Dean was given a better one.

 

But the showdown wasn’t over yet. He had to hold it together for just a little while longer. He had to walk the walk for  _ just a few more friggin’ minutes,  _ and then he could formulate a plan. Then his dad would be out of his hair and he could be as irreverent as he had dreamed of since he realized he was bisexual.

 

Not once had he denied himself the indulgence of his desires. He remembered his first guy-given handjob fondly; being bi was never something he was ashamed of. It always felt so right, so normal. What hurt so much was not being able to be open about it with his family. How dearly he would’ve loved to grow up knowing the people he lived with didn’t give a damn about such inconsequential things.

 

At first, early on, it made him sad. Down the line, he grew resentful. Harboring anger had the tendency to make one bitter, and Dean was no exception. It made him aggressive and spiteful at times, and sometimes a poor soul would be in the way and get lashed at. He didn’t mean it, truly. He was just so… bottled up. Under pressure. Locked away, not allowed to breathe freely.

 

But he was so close. And he wasn’t actually planning on causing a scene, but if the need arose, could he really keep up the turn-the-other-cheek facade? Why not cut loose? He was here, he was queer, and he was doomed anyway. On the cusp of impertinence, he determined to bite his tongue long enough for his father to witness him giving his John Hancock on the registration waver.

 

The air felt thick as Dean reluctantly raised his head to meet the sight of the sprawling camp. The gravel road turned to faded asphalt, and several clean-cut middle-aged men in pressed polos littered the scene. It was an expanse of lazy rolling hills, as was typical for east Kansas, which would have been prettier, had Dean visited them under different circumstances. From where he stood, it was just a bunch of obstacles between him and Cas.

 

He stepped out of the bus, immediately acknowledged by a tall, skinny blond with a crooked smile. He stood behind a fold-up table, which sat angled on the uneven ground. Behind him was the cafeteria building, where a few men were beginning to form the lunch line. Dean took a cleansing breath and looked down at the registration papers and branded pens.

 

“Welcome to Back to the Fold Men’s Camp,” the guy greeted. “Last name?”

 

“Winchester,” Dean replied, then realized he should probably return the beaming smile he was offered, or else Registration Dude would suspect something. He forced a closed-mouth smile, trying to make sure it reached at least his cheeks. He probably looked like someone was taking his photograph while chewing a mouthful of cherry pie, but manners weren’t exactly high on his list of priorities.

 

Registration Dude sifted through the stack, stopping near the end when he reached the W’s. “We get verbal consent as well as written,” he said, setting the stapled papers bearing Dean’s full name before him. “So, just so we’re clear, are you here because you want to be?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean muttered quietly as he grabbed the nearest pen. They were all click pens with the camp name and phone number printed in a cliche font. He skimmed the two pages of rules, feeling a little more ashamed with every passing bullet point. After checking off all the boxes, he dropped down to the sign and datelines, pausing to fidget with the pen.

 

“I came here five years ago,” the guy at the table began, sensing the hesitation. “The people here are real nice. Got me squared away within a couple of weeks. Now I’m back as a counselor, trying my best to help other men of the same affliction.”

 

“Affliction?” Dean spat. “Oh, you’re gay?”

 

“Ex-gay.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed at the ridiculous term. A curve flashed over his lips, but he quelled it with a deliberate cough as he ran his hand over his mouth. A scene played out in his head with the lanky twink getting bent over this very table by some domineering macho man. Blinking away the episode couldn’t stop Dean from dipping his eyes down for a split second before throwing them back up to Registration Guy’s in an  _ oh-shit-he-saw-me-check-him-out  _ panic.

 

“Ex-gay, huh?” Screw it, he had to break the awkward silence somehow.

 

“Indeed,” the young man said with a polite nod. “The team leaders are going to uh… help you, too.”

 

Dean pursed his lips at the subtle addressal of his wandering eyes. After huffing one last exhale, he signed his name and dropped the pen on the table. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his old man standing on the bottom step of the bus, leaning against the frame. John pulled his phone out of his pocket, pressing just one number and putting it to his ears. The bastard had this whole thing orchestrated. He had Dean’s name written on the registration ahead of time because he knew he could make Dean go, and he had a deacon on speed dial to follow through on whatever plan he prepared as leverage. The sicko.

 

“Good morning, Brother Corbett,” John greeted. “Is it still morning? I haven’t checked my… Ah, lunchtime already! My, how time flies. Do you have the boy? Good, good. Let him go; Dean has done his part. Yes… Yes, thank you, brother. Goodbye.”

 

“Cas,” Dean said as soon as John hung up. “His name is Cas.”

 

John slipped the phone back into his pocket and glared at Dean. The two shared a piercing stare before the pastor climbed the steps and closed the door without another word. As Dean turned back around to face the camp, he swelled with rage at his father’s gall, as well as a wave of relief that Cas was out of his hands. It didn’t mean he was safe, but it did mean John Winchester wasn’t going to be the one to hurt him.

 

“My name is Eli, by the way,” the greeter said with an outstretched hand. 

 

“Dean,” he replied and was surprised at the strength behind the handshake. Then again, it was a sign of manliness in Bible-thumping culture, and heaven knows what kind of crap this guy underwent on his journey to such elite spiritual wholeness.

 

“You can keep the pen, Dean. It’s our gift to you!”

 

“Oh, that’s uh…”  _ Lame, cheap, condescending, and aphoristic _ . “Thanks, Eli.”

 

He clipped the pen onto his front pants pocket, like a good little camp boy, and took a wide view of the grounds. To Eli’s back was the cafeteria, and to Dean’s back were the dorms. To his right was the tabernacle, and beyond were eye roll-inducing group building exercises in the woods. Down in the valley, another building loomed ominously — tin roof, no windows, and heavy duty double doors. Dean swallowed thickly. He didn’t need the campground map to know what went on in there.

 

“Lunch is served every day at noon,” Eli explained from a clipboard. “Your bed is 2A in cabin number three. There’s a weekly schedule hanging on the corkboard in each cabin, but you can get your own copy in the tabernacle. The activities are strictly enforced. Be there or be square!”

 

Eli flashed a toothy grin, to which Dean couldn’t decide on the proper response. This guy seemed way too excited about this place. Dean attempted a look of indifference, although he was pretty sure it came across as bewilderment. He just wanted this overly-enthusiastic welcome to end.

 

“Did you bring your own clothing and toiletries?”

 

“Uh, no.” Dean looked around him as he replied, as if expecting a duffle bag to magically appear. He shook his head at his own strange reaction. Why did he do that? It wasn’t like his kind-hearted father dropped off clean shirts and some underoos before leaving him to get electrocuted for getting boners at gay porn.

 

“Oh, that’s okay. Back to the Fold has a full supply of shower supplies for the convenience of our campers. Extra clothes can be claimed in the Lost and Found, located in the cafeteria, and each cabin is equipped with a washer and dryer.”

 

Dean listened patiently as Eli rattled off the  _ most definitely _ memorized response. It was a hefty chunk to recite, and he couldn't deny Eli’s full immersion into his cause was impressive. It was just sad that he was here, helping instill falsehoods, instead of out there being his true self.

 

He waited until he was sure Eli was done. “I appreciate it. And uh… I’m starving. So I’m gonna go…”

 

Eli threw his head around his shoulder and pointed at the caf. “Right over there, sir!”

 

“Uh huh,” Dean responded with a forced smile. “Thanks. See ya around, Eli.”

 

As he crossed the dining room’s threshold, a constricting feeling blanketed over him. He scanned the room, and realized that for the first time in his life, he was utterly alone. Every person in line, eating at the tables and getting up to refill their drinks, was a stranger. He had been to summer camp before, but it was with the youth group. Growing up in a town like his, he always had the background feeling of expecting someone he knew to be right around the corner. Here, the feeling was gone.

 

He didn’t recognize a single person there, and then it hit him how glad he was of that.

 

Ed and Corbett dodged it. Neither family had the money or interest to ship them off to conversion camp. Benny’s mother didn’t give a damn who he fucked and rightfully thought such institutions were inhumane. Most of the other guys he had been with were so deep in the closet, they spent ninety percent of the time with their dick in Dean’s mouth telling him how straight they were. Their families obviously didn’t know. 

 

And most importantly, Cas and Charlie were safe. And Dean? He smiled. Because they were miles away from this place. Because they no longer had to live in fear of being dropped off with an ultimatum pointed at their head. Because if he could do it over, he’d still choose to take their place.

 

While in the lunchline, Dean made friends with two guys around his age. Abel and Joel were both from Oklahoma, and both actually, genuinely wanted to be there. Unsettled by the deadness in their eyes, Dean sat with them and tried to avoid making excessive eye contact by burying himself in his tray of stale chicken tenders and instant mashed potatoes. Something about the way they so readily accepted their fate made Dean’s stomach churn. 

 

Chuckling to himself, he lifted the styrofoam cup to his lips, wondering how many unironic Kool Aid jokes he could make before somebody caught on. More than anything, he wanted to know if these two were together-together before coming here. He decided against it, for the time being. Maybe after dorm clean-up.

 

“So,” Abel smacked in between bites. “Got any siblings?”

 

Dean really,  _ really  _ hated small talk, but he hated everything else around him even more, so he buckled down and dealt with it. “One brother… Name’s Sam. He’s a freshman.”

 

“In college?”

 

“High school.”

 

“I thought you might have been the oldest,” Joel said behind a pointed spoon. “They’ve always got a way about them.”

 

Abel was a young man of medium build with bright eyes behind a mess of curly hair. Joel had a slight belly pudge with a receding hairline at the tender age of nineteen. They both liked basketball, choir, and video games. Abel had a bonsai tree he entrusted to his little sister in his absence. Joel wrote columns for a religious paper that circulated amongst particularly pious congregations. Dean recognized the name of the paper, but never wasted his time reading it, so he had to act like he recognized Joel’s pen name and latest article.

 

Dean threw his fork onto his plate and spoke without thinking. “This tastes like ass.”

 

The guffaws from both men made him realize just how uncomfortable he made the air. Eyes bouncing from one to the other, Dean waited for Abel and Joel to stop laughing before backtracking with something that would negate the coarse implications. He couldn’t afford not to have acquaintances, no matter how their views differed.

 

“I uh,” Dean coughed. “It’s…”

 

“It’s fine,” Abel amended, the remnants of laughter still wrinkling his eyes. “I mean, Joel and I would know.”

 

Dean’s brow shot up mid-nod. That answered his question. 

 

“But we’re getting better,” Joel interjected hurriedly. “We’ve been here three days and the counselors said they’ve already noticed an improvement on my… tendencies.”

 

Dean bristled, brows furrowing and mouth opening slightly to accommodate the breath he needed for the sentence he didn’t know how to form. His heart ached for these guys. He spent so long accepting his sexuality, that somewhere along the way, he forgot so many people actually thought like this.

 

“You know,” he began, not knowing where this would take him. He had to say something, on principle alone. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

 

Joel let out a curt giggle. “Well, not anymore, you mean.”

 

“No, I’m… That’s not what I meant.” Dean slumped in the caf’s stiff fold-up chair. “I’m saying…”

 

The clanging of a cowbell interrupted him, signaling the end of lunch hour. Dean didn’t want to end the conversation, as he wanted to believe he could get through to these guys. They were only three days in. Surely there was still hope. He was sure Abel and Joel were wonderful for each other, and he hated to see a romance squashed in the name of the heteronormative valiance of ‘saving the friendship’. Sure, they were great friends. But it was obvious they still liked each other. Amid everything else Dean was dealing with, he wondered if he could salvage their mutual affection.

 

“Time for dorm clean up,” Abel singsonged as he shot up. “And then off to the barn we go!”

 

Dean’s lips ran cold. “Ah, so that’s what that creepy ass building’s called.”

 

“It gets easier after a few sessions,” Joel assured him. “You’ll be straight in no time!”

 

_No, I really won’t_ , Dean thought as he bit a nail and stood up with his tray. _And neither will anybody else in this godforsaken place._ _You’ll just learn how to hide, even more than you already have._ Not that he planned on staying; he had to get the hell out of Dodge and find Cas. Time was of the essence when a weakened incubus was in the wind.

 

The three split up after lunch. Abel and Joel had been purposefully assigned to different cabins, which also happened to be different than Dean’s. He grumbled at the thought of having to introduce himself to more people. Pray-the-gay-away crap was getting old, and he had only been there an hour.

 

Before assuming his bunk, he paid a visit to lost and found and the stash of 2-in-1 hair and body wash. Who the hell left a Led Zeppelin 1977 tour shirt unclaimed was beyond all scope of Dean’s understanding, but he would give it a good home. He took his time walking to the cabin with his spoils, dragging his eyes along the hills and disappearing asphalt road, looking for an escape route. The front entrance was out of the question, as he was almost a hundred percent sure he’d run into a guard or camera or both.

 

Clean up was uneventful since he had nothing to clean as of yet, so he laid on his bottom bunk while the rest of the boys shoved their things under the bed. It was only now that he realized he didn’t have his cell phone. He patted at his pockets, wondering when exactly he lost it. Son of a bitch. Last time he saw it, Cas was messaging Rowena.

 

“We’re not allowed to have them, anyway,” someone said in the bunk beside him.

 

Dean rolled over to see a frizzy-haired, dark-eyed young teen — couldn’t have been older than Sammy — collapse onto his newly made bed and pull a book out from under his pillow. 

 

“The reception is crap in these cabins, anyway,” he continued, shrugging into his book.

 

“My dad made a call just fine when he dropped me off.”

 

“Yeah, that drop-off spot is the best place in the camp,” the teen replied. “Just about everywhere else is a freakin’ dead zone.”

 

Dean peered at the kid. “How do you know?”

 

The kid looked up from behind his book. “I’ve been here a while.”

 

“And…?”

 

Smiling, the frizzy-haired teen put his thumb in his book to save the spot and tapped his pants pocket, where a phone-shaped bulge became apparent. Dean smirked.

 

“Name’s Dean.”

 

“Marco.”

 

“What brings you here, Marco?”

 

“The word of the lord, amen hallelujah.”

 

Marco’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and Dean loved it. For the first time since he arrived, he actually smiled a  _ real  _ smile. It felt amazing.

 

“Got caught making out with my boyfriend,” Dean supplied. Marco’s tone suggested an open door to talk plainly, and Dean decided to take the risk. “And I’m not sorry.”

 

“Got caught asking people to respect my preferred pronouns,” Marco deadpanned. “And I’m not sorry, either.”

 

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek. The looming knowledge of the barn wouldn’t leave his mind, and if he could distract himself with a little friendly conversation, he would take it. So far, Marco was the only person of the same mindset, and they had barely even spoken.

 

“Okay,” Dean acceded. “What’s the word? He, she, none of the above?”

 

“Mostly ‘they’, but don’t use it. Not here, anyway. Anything besides ‘he’ isn’t going to fly. You’re the first person to ask, though.”

 

Dean nodded, beginning to understand the story before Marco even finished telling it. Being in an unsafe place and keeping Marco’s preferred pronouns to himself wasn’t going to stop Dean from honoring their wishes within his own mind. Curious, he decided to dig deeper. 

 

“When you say you’ve been here awhile, you mean…?”   
  


“Dios mío,” Marco breathed, glancing up at the boards holding up the top bunk. Flicking a short pocket knife out of their back pocket, they stuck their tongue out a bit as they dug a mark into the wood above. “Three weeks today.”

 

Inviting himself over, Dean shimmied between bunks to see Marco’s collection of tally marks. The beds were crushed together, making it easy to scoot over, and Marco made room for him as Dean took his time to count the rough etchings. His stomach twisted.

 

“Damn,” Dean muttered. 

 

“I’m here by choice,” Marco said with a shrug. “Not at first, obviously. But once I got in the groove of things, I realized how messed up the campers are in the head. The stubborn ones  — people like me — need hope. Instead of acting like I was a ‘changed man’, I did just enough to keep myself in here a while longer. I’ll keep doing it until they kick me out.”

 

“You put up with all this crap, just to help people cope?”

 

“I call it, Operation Undercover Genderqueer.”

 

They both chuckled at that, but Dean quieted down for his next question. “So are you up for bustin’ outta here?”

 

“Maybe. I’d have to think about it.”

 

“Well, I’ve gotta get outta here. I was supposed to become one with the love of my life and shit happened, and I’ve gotta save him. He’s in trouble.”

 

“Oh, well in that case,” Marco’s tone brightened. “There’s a hole in the fence behind the swimming pool.”

 

A flutter of hope sprung inside Dean. He had a way out. He would be with Cas soon. He relaxed against Marco’s pillow, a weight lifting from his shoulders. This could work; he just needed to figure out the perfect time to separate from the rest of the group and — 

 

“But it’s an electric fence,” they continued ruefully. “Someone wound up in the hospital with cardiac arrest from touching it two weeks ago. And it’s only deactivated for ten minutes every day for testing and maintenance… And you missed it today. It’s in the morning, right after breakfast.”

 

Dean deflated. “Dammit, I need to get out today.”

 

“Sorry. The hole came from someone trying to escape. They did a good job cutting the fence, and maintenance did a terrible job repairing it, but you’d still have to lift it to climb under. And you can’t do that while the wire is live.”

 

“Hey, no sharing beds,” snapped a counselor with his polo buttoned all the way up, paired with an awfully matched tie. 

 

“Oh,” Dean murmured, shuffling into his own bunk. “Is that too gay?”

 

Marco hid behind their book to nod. The counselor with questionable fashion choices was long gone, but Dean stayed put, intrusive thoughts crowding his mind. His escape could not wait until tomorrow. No telling where Cas would be at that point if he would even survive that long without getting dragged back to the Pit. If anything happened to him, Dean would never forgive himself.

 

During the last few minutes of cabin clean up, all he could picture was that freaking barn downhill. It sat at the forefront of his mind, taunting him. Faceless, wordless, and menacing amid a camp of otherwise friendly buildings. The chapel was probably a shady little fuck too, though.

 

The cowbell signaled the beginning of a new hour, and Dean’s nerves tingled at the knowledge of what was to come. He lost sight of Marco in the crowd exiting the cabin, and lingered a moment to glance at the weekly schedule hanging on the corkboard. Hoping to find a slot of free time to plan an escape, he ran his eyes down Sunday’s list of events, but found no such absence of activity. Improvisation it was, then.

 

With a reluctant sigh, he followed the swarm of campers descending to the barn. It didn’t look much like a barn, in Dean’s humble opinion. It was gray, enormous, and too industrial. If this joint had a can of spray paint, he’d rent himself a ladder and rename the place  _ Piece of Shit That Should Be Burned to the Motherfucking Ground _ . Though he reconsidered, seeing how if he acquired a ladder, he’d just use it to beat the shit out of any counselors who came near him.

 

The barn was sectioned into zones. Some had a circle of chairs, where Dean assumed everyone platonically held hands and sang kumbaya. In the center sat a podium with a large cross. The section immediately adjacent had an arrangement of chairs like teen church, with a single armed chair facing the rest and a shock machine plugged into a long cord. His steps faltered at the sight of it, but he forced himself to keep walking. Other sections were filled with a laid out tarp and prop bin. Dean hummed thoughtfully. If corny skits were involved, he wanted a front row seat to that show. 

 

How these clean-cut freaks in polos organized the campers was anyone’s guess, but Dean was led into one of the circular chair sections. “Musical chairs?” he piped up, hoping to ease the tension he was positive wasn’t just his imagination. He got a courtesy smile from one of the counselors, but that was it.

 

Dean sat down, but was perturbed to find the shock machine in the next section over, in his direct line of sight. He started to get up to find another seat, but they were all taken. Grumbling, he got as comfortable as possible in the unfriendly metal chair. The five people around him gave attention to the man in a polo stepping into a circle: an older, short guy with a mop of graying hair named Jerry, according to his self-adhesive name tag. Just beyond their ring, someone forced a tearful twenty-something into the armed chair and strapped wet bands across his wrists and forehead, cords leading directly to the shock machine.

 

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Jerry began. He carried a clipboard and wore a windbreaker tied around his waist, like some kind of hip skateboarder from the ‘80s. “If you’re here, you know why, so let’s not waste time with nitty gritties. Start off with your name, where you’re from, and a random fact about you.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes at the predictable icebreaker. Once his eyes returned from their cartwheel, they landed on the poor guy strapped to the chair. He didn’t listen to the people beside him introducing themselves. He was tuned into the conversation going on in the section next to the podium. Another camp worker, a different one than the one that had put the cuffs on the young man, put a tablet in front of his face and pressed a button.

 

The person to Dean’s left nudged him. Tearing his eyes away, he looked around the circle before glancing back up at Grandpa Jerry. Everyone was staring at Dean like they were expecting him to say something.

 

_ It’s your turn, dingbat, _ he told himself, but all eloquence left him at the sight of someone adjusting the shock machine’s dials in preparation. It was no use. In a panic, he jabbered the first dumb thing that came to mind.

 

“Uh, Dean Winchester. I’m nineteen, I’m from Lawrence, Kansas… I ate a goldfish once, and nobody knows I’m a lesbian.”

 

He got several strange looks, but he didn’t notice, because his eyes were fixed on the man in the chair. The technician behind the machine’s control panel had flipped a switch, and the chair’s occupant was jolting and screaming in pain. Dean jumped in his seat and swallowed hard, realizing his lunch was about to make a guest appearance.

 

He shot up. “Excuse me —”

 

Jerry put his hands on Dean when he stood to his feet. “Mr. Winchester, you’re going to have to stay seated —”

 

“Get offa me!” Dean yelled, shoving the old man away as he stumbled out of the circle. He keeled over a large black trash bin and retched up every bit of food in his stomach. Cold sweat trickled down his brow. He leaned on the bin for support, knees giving in under the stress of throwing up. His breaths were short and erratic, his lips cold and colorless, and tears streamed down his face. 

 

For all the nausea taking his body, for all the chunks he was blowing, he was more than just sickened. He was terrified. And it was wearing his nice-guy fortitude paper thin.

 

Until now, he didn’t let himself think about it. Not really. He pushed it away, from the moment he woke up in the bus until now, and he was doing so damn well. Compartmentalizing was a specialty, especially of unsolicited fear and uncertainty. It had no place in his life, so he just kept sweeping it under the rug, until something like this happened, and it all just exploded.

 

In this case, literally.

 

His stomach contracted one last empty heave, and he looked down to see the bin wasn’t for trash at all, but for skit props. Throw up dripped all over foam weapons, dollar store bouncy balls, and a giant teddy bear. Too exhausted to care, he bent over the bin, tears, sweat, and spit dribbling down while breathing in the smell of his own puke. This was hell. Actual, literal hell. It had to be.

 

“Work it out, son,” the older man said with a vigorous pat on the back. “The rest of us are wondering what you meant back there.”

 

“Huh?” Dean coughed, almost thrown into another fit of convulsions from the rough handling.

 

“You see, calling yourself a lesbian insinuates the idea that you are sexually attracted to women. But according to your case file,” Jerry paused as he flipped through several pages on his clipboard, “you’ve been reported of being attracted to males.”

  
“It was a joke, you dumbass,” Dean spat, head still over the bin. “Don’t overanalyze.”

 

“Ah, but that doesn’t address the topic of your case file…”

 

“I like men, alright gramps? I like chicks, too. It’s called not being picky. Apparently, this is a foreign concept to some of you.”

 

“If you experience some attraction to females, that means —”

 

“It means you should leave me the fuck alone and let me finish throwing up on your kinky roleplay toys.”

 

Done. He was done. The well of manners was dried up. After all these years of pushing down abuse, pigeon-holing, and misunderstandings, he had nothing left. And the levee was breaking.

 

“Mr. Winchester, I have never come across such disrespect in all my days. At least, not from someone who supposedly came of their own accord.”

 

“Yeah? Well, buckle the fuck up, Jerry boy, ‘cause there’s more comin’!”

 

“Okay, that’s enough —”

 

Dean didn’t know he could lift a full grown man from his legs and toss him into the throw-up bin, but the fluid motion happened so fast, he hardly had time to register doing it. Only one thing was running through his head: how much he wanted this man to shut the hell up. He was hot with rage and scared to death, and his body reacted by neutralizing the most immediate threat.

 

Once he saw the man’s legs sticking straight up out of the black bin, he whipped around to see the entire camp staring at him. Everyone’s talking, rehearsing, and electrocuting came to a halt in the wake of Dean’s outburst.  _ Of course _ , he thought.  _ Of fucking course this would happen on my first goddamn day at Jesus camp _ .

 

“A’ight fellas,” he said cautiously, hands up in surrender. “Just let him walk it off, he’ll be fine.”

 

Dean didn’t have a long shot at getting out of this unscathed, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to attempt it anyway. After a camper helped Jerry out of the bin, he glared at Dean in disdain. He was smothered in Dean’s puke, windbreaker falling down his hips and hair matted to his forehead. If the circumstances were different, it would have been hilarious.

 

Jerry stumbled around before regaining his footing. He spat and wiped his face while another counselor rummaged through a supply closet for towels. When his cold eyes met Dean’s terrified, expectant gaze, he sneered the verdict.

 

“Strap him in.”

 

Dean turned to run, but five counselors were already on him. He wriggled out of someone’s grasp, only to end up in someone else’s. Thrashing around wildly, he cried out in defiance, fighting every step they lugged him through the dirt.

 

“No,” he growled, elbowing one man in the gut. “This is crazy… You guys… you’re the ones that need help. Look at you! You’re… ow…” He went for someone’s eyes when they got too close, but his buddy punched Dean’s hand out of the way. 

 

“This isn’t going to help. Do you hear me? It doesn’t help and I don’t want it! Ouch…” Someone kicked him in the shin, sending him and everyone else around him to the ground. “Fuck off! Fuck all the way off… Get the fuck… Oh, shut up. Jesus doesn’t fucking care.”

 

Someone in the gawking crowd had the audacity to start up a conversation about bad language. It all came crashing down and Dean snapped. Why not give them something to zap him about? What the fucking hell; nothing he could do now was going to change their minds about how badly they wanted him in the chair of horrors.

 

“One of my friends says Jesus was gay!” he laughed as his captors dragged him back to his feet. “You motherfuckers gonna strap Jesus to that chair? Huh? My friend is crazy as shit but one thing’s for sure. Y’all are crazier!”

 

Someone from afar off yelled, “Blasphemy!”

 

Dragged through the circle of chairs with hands gripping his arms and clothes, Dean found it amusing how ruined he was causing the formation to become. “Blasphemy? Fuck that! You’re probably wearing a polyester cotton blend!”

 

He dug his heels into the soft dirt, halting the progress and forcing the counselors around him to lift him off his feet. 

 

“Fine, then. I’ll just ride that chair over there. Does it have a name? Sparky? Is that too cliche?” He was still fighting, as much as he could given the circumstances, but one against five was hardly a fair fight. Everyone was tugging and pushing and pulling; it was a wonder his clothes were holding up. “I’m ridin’ that chair like I ride dick! Yee haw…” Someone punched him in the mouth. “Yippie-kay-yay, motherfuckers!”

 

The group surrounding him had grown from five counselors to almost half the camp. Dean was tired — so, so tired from fighting back — but he wasn’t getting strapped to that chair unless he went kicking and screaming. If we went quietly, would he even be Dean Winchester?

 

“Fuck you!” he hollered, voice going hoarse. “Fuck you, and fuck you… Eh, I wouldn’t fuck you. Hey, you in the red t-shirt! Fuck you, in particular!” He chuckled weakly, jolting one last time as they closed the distance between him and the chair. “If my boyfriend were here, you guys would revert back to your gayness so fast. One look into those big, blue eyes…”

 

Three men shoved him into the seat. Two more on each side had to hold his arms still as the machine custodian strapped the wet cuffs around his wrists. Held down in about nine different places, Dean watched the scene unfold before him with tears of unadulterated fear. Someone from behind pushed against his forehead against the headrest, strapping another cuff around his head.

 

He was on a roll with the big talk, but it was putting off thoughts of what was to come. He kept thinking about Cas. How much his heart ached being apart from his mate. How loudly their souls cried out for each other. It was singular and pure in the midst of the chaotic swarm around him, so he kept holding on.

 

“Lemme tell you about my boy, about Cas,” Dean sobbed. His voice croaked under the salty tears and raw throat, but he spoke as loud as he could above the jeering crowd. Fuck everything else; right now, Cas was the only thing keeping him sane. “He’s the love of my life. I’m gonna go back to him, y’know. As soon as y’all let me offa this fuckin’ — Ahh!”

 

All bodily contact with his tormentors ended just in time for the first bolt of electricity to surge through him. The current started in his forehead and wrists, igniting nerves in his extremities and everywhere in between. His entire body felt like it was shaking, just for a moment. It was a short, experimental zap, just to scare him. With a shaky breath, he clenched his fists and kept talking.

 

“He’s handsome, funny, he makes me happy… And you guys. Let me tell you about his long, thick cock.”

 

Another surge rippled through him. It was a split second longer, and stronger.

 

“Shit! That really hurts,” Dean hissed through gritted teeth. 

 

“You have to unlearn the homosexual tendencies, Mr. Winchester,” Jerry instructed, approaching the chair with a new shirt and clean face. “Soon, you will associate these tendencies with pain, and you’ll learn to avoid them.”

 

“That’s such utter bullshit,” Dean dismissed. “Now, as I was saying, his cock is — Ouch! It’s so big, it’d split your ass wide open — Ahhh, my god! I love that c-c-cock… Ow ow ow.”

 

What Dean was doing, what he was going through, was not funny at all, but he was laughing. If he didn’t, he might beg for mercy, and that was off the board. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The entire camp had forsaken their activities to see the spectacle, so Dean would give them a show. Maybe he would change the name of the barn, after all.  _ Homophobe Shitshow Starring Dean Winchester _ .

 

“But Jerry, I’m not gay. I like both —”

 

“Men and women, you told me,” Jerry finished. “That’s not a real orientation, young man. You know that, right? The only true orientation is heterosexual. You’re just confused.”

 

“You’re confused,” he barked back, at a loss for clever comebacks. His head was starting to feel light after the shocks and his breathing was shallow.

 

A different man, this one in a button up and tweed suit coat, held up a tablet with a video paused on the screen. Dean could tell it was a porno before it even started. No bodies were on screen yet, but he could tell by the camera angles and cheap props.

 

“Aw, thanks, hot stuff. This is my favorite porn site. Whatcha got for me?”

 

Dean braced himself, but no bolt came. The suited man pressed play, and as expected, the storyline unfolded. It was of two guys, the plot of which seemed especially unimportant, given the fact that the only reason he was watching this was so they could electrocute him if he got a hard-on.

 

About two minutes in, the naked guys were grinding against each other and reaching for each other’s erections. “Hey Pastor Tweed Jacket, this ain’t doin’ much for me. You got any pictures of Han Solo?”

 

The guy holding the tablet stopped the video and furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand. This usually works.”

 

“They’re not really my type,” Dean shrugged against the chair. “I prefer dark hair, blue eyes, monster cock, an angel in the streets and a demon in the sheets if you will…”

 

Strings of electric current flared through Dean’s body. An agonizing yell erupted from his lungs, gradually trickling off into wet sobs. His head throbbed. His body felt like it was on fire. Every nerve was exhausted from being a conduit for electricity and he couldn’t escape it. A tear rolled down his cheek. He raised his head to see the nearby podium, on which the cross stood cold and indifferent. It faced him vacantly, like a slap in the face.

 

And it hit him that he was alone. Not just “boo hoo, no friends” alone.

 

_ Alone  _ alone.

 

In the back of his mind, up to this point, he had held onto a little faith. Sure, he took every chance he could to flaunt his disdain for anything remotely associated with the things his father believed; but what Dean didn’t realize was, up to this point, he always hoped a little of it was real. Maybe the law of sowing and reaping would work in his favor some day. Maybe bowing his head and closing his eyes actually did shit. But here, strapped to a shock chair, he realized how very wrong he was.

 

A very old habit died in him that day. He looked from the podium to the tin roof, all hope of being heard shrinking away. Squinting his eyes shut, he made one last cry to the heavens, knowing as soon as it left his mouth, that no one was listening. He was abandoned. No one could hear him, and no one was coming to save him.

 

“You have forsaken me,” he whispered to a God he no longer believed in. 

 

Only then did he close himself off. At that moment, he threw away the sliver of hope he had held onto despite everything. Convictions that people swore up and down would come back sevenfold in his time of need. A deity that failed him when it mattered. A cause he gave the best years of his life to, holding onto the promise that it would be worth it.

 

This. This was not worth it. And now he was alone.

 

His moans continued, sniveling and breathy, as the sharp dressed man swiped to another video. Satisfied that one would give the desired results, he held it in front of Dean’s face and pressed play. To his chagrin, one of the men was muscular and raven-haired. His heart immediately began to ache. He couldn’t watch this.

 

When he averted his eyes, Jerry grabbed his head and held it steady. “Watch… the video… you filthy cocksucker,” he hissed through gritted teeth. The other man held the tablet closer, so it was impossible to look away. The screen was too close and it hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t move. He cried as he watched, his tears thankfully blurring his vision past the point of following the scene.

 

“Keep your eyes open,” Jerry barked.

 

Dean forced himself to keep from blinking. The video cleared as his eyes dried, and the first thing he noticed was how similar one of the men looked to Cas. It hurt to watch. He liked porn, but he didn’t want to watch this. He wouldn’t even watch it if he was alone. How could he lay eyes on someone else when his love was out there, lost and alone?

 

The dark-haired man slammed into a lighter built hunk from behind. The movements were mechanical, predictable… nothing like when Cas did him. Dean yearned for his touch, his breath on his skin —- the small parts of their loving that gave him goosebumps and left him begging for more.

 

Dean exhaled while thinking about how badly he wanted that bottom to be him and that fine piece of ass on top to be Cas. He so loved getting fucked by Cas. He’d spread his ass wide open for him, hungry for every thrust his lover would give him. Cas could make him moan like no one else. Dean felt a low heat growing in his groin, just knowing how ruined Cas could make him.

 

“Ahh! Son of a bitch!” Dean bellowed as another flash rippled through him. He looked down to see the tent in his pants begin to wane in the wake of the shock.

 

“Good, good,” the shock machine attendant muttered right behind him.

 

The barn was gradually quieting down, their heckles now unconcerned mumbling and aggressive hands how folded across their chests. Dean swept his eyes across the crowd as the man took the tablet away. His muscles ached from being torn apart by electric currents; his fingers trembled from fright as well as physical trauma. 

 

Amid the crowd, he picked out Abel and Joel, who covered all but their eyes to hide the wide-mouthed horror at the pain they knew, but not at this concentration. Marco peeked out from behind a burly man off to the side. Dean shook his head in despair. For all the help he tried to give, it always came to this. Him, taking the brunt of the blow, while the crowd stood and stared in blank indifference.

 

And sure, he could have kept his mouth shut and gotten out of this chair as quickly as anyone else, but he was so fucking done. For too long, he held his tongue, hoping the law of balance in the universe would kick in. For years, he spread good karma, only to have it bite him in the ass. So yes, Dean cracked. Yes, the dam broke and he let it all out — everything he had been wanting to say, everything whispered in the dark and hidden from polite society — and screw the consequences. 

 

There was no escaping the consequences, now. Every waking moment, he could never really forget how unfair life was, and it was all culminating right here in this barn. The system was fucked up and it hurt. He was in physical pain, from his head to his toes, but he was heartbroken, as well. Maybe that was the shock machine talking and he was in very real danger of death by electrocution, but maybe not. Maybe it really hurt that his father threw him away and every plan he had of not having to live in fear crumbled beneath his feet.

 

“Cas,” Dean rasped under his breath.

 

He couldn’t justify the hope he felt just by saying that name. Cas couldn’t fly to his rescue and tear Pastor Tweed Jacket in half. On a list of reliable entities, a weakened incubus was pretty far down. But he was the only person Dean still believed in.

 

“Cas, please,” he said quietly. “I need you. Please, save me. Please, baby please…”

 

“Let’s move onto another,” Jerry instructed.

 

Pastor Tweed Jacket blinked hard in disbelief. “You want to keep going?”

 

“He obviously needs more electroconvulsive therapy before we can clear him for stage two.”

 

“Jerry, we can’t give him much more without causing permanent damage.”

 

Dean shut his eyes to clear his mind of the mindless chatter, instead focusing on Cas. He thought about the smile he did when he was shy. Cas was a total badass, so getting him shy about something was a major accomplishment. He also thought about the look Cas would give when he was about to pounce him, like a cat stalking its prey. It was hot but also kind of cute.

 

The edges of his lips curled up. Imagining Cas looking through him with those stormy oceanic eyes was enough to make him hard, but he couldn’t help it. How could he help the way Cas made him feel when they were tangled in each other’s arms, without another care in the world? His arms held him so strong, his voice so low and ancient, and his warmth made every worry slip away as he cuddled Dean into a deep sleep.

 

His eyes flew open. Cas was technically still an incubus. They weren’t all the way bonded, so as far as he knew, he could still sense Dean’s sexual thoughts. It was a longshot, but if Cas was still safe, maybe he could sense him.  _ Maybe he could track him. _ And even if he wasn’t okay… if he was beyond all hope, they could share a longing together. Dean could comfort his mate amid both of their personal hells.

 

Closing his eyes again, he envisioned the dirtiest scenario he could while the men by him argued. In his mind, he and Cas were sweating and moaning and covered in spunk. They were on round four and Cas was in his lap, riding his dick and begging Dean to let him come. In the next vision, Dean’s satin panties were pried away for Cas, who was railing into him while whispering filthy praises between kisses. 

 

Dean let out an erotic hum. Out loud.

 

“Thinking about someone special?” the machine custodian chuckled.

 

Opening his eyes, Dean glanced down at his hard-on and flashed a shit-eating grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

“It’s a girl, I presume?” Jerry prompted.

 

Dean pouted and shook his head slowly. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the female form. But I told you losers, his name is Cas.”

 

Jerry looked expectantly at the man in charge of the machine, who sighed before flipping the switch again. The guy in the suit held his hand up, a silent order to stop. Dean grunted in pain, teeth grinding as his body seized under the shock of electricity. As quickly as the current started, it stopped, leaving Dean heaving noisily.

 

“You fellas don’t even fully appreciate the female form, and you’re punishing me for liking both! I bet you can’t even find your wife’s g-spot.” He looked directly at the suited man.

 

“Her… what?”

 

“Oh, that poor lady!” Dean laughed. “If I were single, I’d tell you to let me have ‘er for a while. Let me tell you, I know how to handle a woman.”

 

“Man whore,” he spat. “Turn the dial up on that machine.”

 

“But sir —”

 

“Do it!”

 

“Hey now, no need to get nasty,” Dean scolded. “I came here for reparative therapy, not the I’m-butt-hurt-about-somebody-else-being-able-to-fuck-my-wife-better chair.”

 

He was talking shit now, but it was distracting him from the pain and fear. There was no point in pissing off the people torturing him, besides spite. But spite was the only move he had left.

 

“It’s against policy,” Jerry admitted. “We can’t use the machine outside of its intended purpose.”

 

“I’m a team leader, so I outrank you,” Pastor Tweed Jacket said in anger. He turned to the machine man with a red face. “Shock him again.”

 

“Ohh shit,” Dean yelled as it surged through him. It hurt twice as much as the previous shocks, and took twice as long to come down from the throbbing high. He shook his head, as well as he could while being bound by the forehead, blinking away black spots and trying to ignore his irregular heartbeat.

 

Abruptly, the crowd got distracted. Someone far away screamed at the top of their lungs, and Dean looked up to see a counselor standing by the double doors get snatched outside. Every head in the barn turned, on edge as they watched the shadow of the man outside struggle with an unknown force, then get yanked out of sight.

 

The barn quieted as their attention shifted to the outcome of the scrimmage. Another terrified cry for help, and then the man fell silent. With a loud thump, he collapsed between the double doors, flat on his back with two bleeding bite marks on his neck. 

 

His eyes were alert, but his body lie paralyzed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	23. Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bound to a shock chair at conversion camp, Dean is beyond relieved when his rescuer barges in. His wonder turns to questions as a powerful friend emerges, but with their combined resources and the help of long-standing allies, he and Cas can take their time breaking apart the Winchester regime and bind their souls in the very church building that has caused them so much grief.

Campers dispersed in the wake of the man’s collapse. A few people gasped and backed away; one counselor shooed campers off so they could inspect the fallen man. When he only responded with terrified eyes, two campers dragged him into the mumbling crowd.

 

The double doors ruptured, broken at their hinges and splintered beyond repair. As the crowd stepped back, a figure grew visible in the bright sun. His first step into the barn cloaked him in the building’s shade, and Dean heaved a sigh of immense relief as the hope of who it could be proved to be a reality.

 

“Cas,” Dean breathed with a weak smile.

 

Eyes fixed on Dean, Cas strode in boldly, wiping a trail of blood off the corner of his mouth and smiling to reveal his last remaining incubus trait: venomous fangs. When a counselor took a step towards him, he hunched up and growled, sending the man stumbling back in fright. The crowd parted for him like the red sea, allowing him to get halfway to the shock chair before the suited team leader spoke up.

 

“And who do you think you are?”

 

Cas glared wildly at the man, completely human-like except the pointed teeth now hidden under snarling lips. “Unbind him.”

 

Pastor Tweed Jacket snorted a laugh. “Says who, you? And what army?”

 

A dark smile crept across Cas’ face. “This one.”

 

Within seconds, dark smoke began to swirl along the ceiling. It was a massive portal, thrumming with hellish whistles and groans as a legion of full-strength incubi and succubi descended upon the barn. Dean’s mouth fell open at the sight, and he laughed at the realization that every single demon rolling in carried a male form. 

 

“Cas, you cheeky bastard,” he commented as the throng of men panicked. Although the counselor, team leader, and shock technician huddled around him as the rest of the camp tried in vain to run away, all of Dean’s fear melted away. In the thick of all the screams, attempts to escape, and pleas for mercy, he felt truly safe. His knight in shining armor had come to rescue him.

 

Others within the barn’s walls were not so lucky. In swarms, incubi and succubi poured out of the portal and flew into immediate action on the camp. Any struggle to escape the clutch of a demon’s claws tapered off, whether by one inhale of their subtle scent, a taste of their saliva, or last-resort bite. One way or another, every repressed sexual desire within a hundred yards came to light.

 

Near the bin Dean threw up in, an overbearing incubus tapped Marco on the shoulder. The kid shook their head politely and gave their hand a casual wave, to which the demon gave two thumbs up and left them alone. Marco looked up to see Dean looking at them inquisitively.

 

“Asexual,” they shouted above the horrified screams.

 

“Ah,” Dean acknowledged with a nod.

 

Attention torn to a particularly gruesome pileup, Dean looked on as a counselor dropped his clipboard while getting yanked into a multi-demon orgy. His repeated “no”s and “stop”s were music to Dean’s ears. Another group of demons ganged up on poor little Eli, but his uncooperative whoops and hollers turned to  _ oohs  _ and  _ ahhs  _ within the minute.

 

Throughout the barn, various other acts of fornication unfolded. A spit-roasting threesome. Two counselors giving into their desires with one whiff of incubus pheromones. A burly he-man of a succubus taking two dicks at once. The camp was a  _ wreck. _

 

Abel and Joel took a little less convincing than even Dean expected. Sprawled out across a row of fold-out chairs, they clung to each other and made out while an incubus grabbed at their pants. Dean gave a puffed up smirk. His work here was done.

 

“Dean,” Cas said as he approached the chair.

 

“Hey baby, hey… Guys hey, Larry, Curly and Moe, this is my boyfriend. Say hi!”

 

“What have you done?” Jerry sneered at Cas while clutching to the shock chair. “You’ve turned the house of God into a den of iniquity!”

 

Dean nodded. “Gorgeous, innit?”

 

“I will not ask again,” Cas warned. His voice was rumbling and angry and  _ hot as fuck.  _ He took several steps closer. “Unbind him.”

 

“One more step and he gets zapped at maximum power,” the technician bellowed, hand on the switch.

 

Dean’s fists clenched automatically. He knew his body couldn’t take it. After squinting his eyes shut for a moment, he opened one to see Cas staring a hole directly into the man in charge of the shock chair.

 

“You’re the one who hurt my mate?” Cas graveled. His eyes grew impossibly darker and his shoulders reared up threateningly. The human body might have been there, but human Cas was gone. This Cas was irate, animalistic, and far, far past the point of being bargained with.

 

“I uh, I… um…” he stuttered at the feral man before him. “You see… Jerry is the one who…”

 

All three men began choking simultaneously. Helpless to run, they collapsed to the ground and held their throats as air slowly escaped them. Dean looked around him, confused, then up to Cas, who looked pleased, but not responsible. Dean’s eyes continued to move up until he caught sight of someone else promenading into the barn: a petite redheaded woman with fists clenched at waist-level.

 

“No way,” Dean said, to himself, more than anyone else. “Rowena?”

 

Cas looked behind his shoulder at the witch, then back at Dean with a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his cheeks. “I enlisted the help of some powerful allies.”

 

“No shit,” Dean guffawed.

 

Rowena stepped gracefully through the war zone, demons and campers alike making way for her as she approached with outstretched fists. Her dress was long and royal blue in contrast with her fiery hair, which was curled and pinned up.

 

Once beside Cas, she muttered a short unbinding spell and swatted her right hand. The straps holding Dean’s head and hands fell off, and he jumped out of the chair, stumbling for a couple of steps before his knees gave out. He collapsed against Cas, who steadied him and brought him back to a standing position with Dean’s arm across his shoulders. 

 

He felt like Han Solo fresh out of carbonite. His brave rescuer had him, and he wasn’t going to let go, so Dean laid his head restfully on Cas’ chest. Cas was going to take care of him. Screw the Tough Guy act; he was finally safe. He’d have plenty of time to walk it off and look all macho for his boyfriend later. For now, he was going to lean on Cas and be rescued like the prince in distress he was.

 

The commotion around them drowned out the sounds of choking as Rowena, Cas, and Dean hurried out of the barn. If anyone was paying attention to their departure, no one dared follow. This was hardly the time to worry about runaways when the campers and staff had their hands full with a sex demon invasion. Once outside, the three found a woodsy patch not far from the border fence and took a breather.

 

“Dean Winchester, I presume,” the witch greeted in a hearty Scottish drawl.

 

“Rowena,” he responded, still leaning on Cas. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

 

“All in good time, dearie. Let’s get out of this bawbag bit, first.”

 

Dean followed her line of sight up the hill, where a shiny white limousine sat waiting for them. He began blabbering incoherent consonants, but Cas interrupted his confusion to urge him up the wooden steps. It was a short enough hike, but relying on someone else for stability made the steps seem steeper. Rowena climbed them with ease, cordial enough to not leave them in the dust, but not dragging at their speed, either.

 

He only had to turn his head to be right at Cas’ ear. “Not gonna lie, that rescue was some kinda hot.”

 

Cas raised a brow as they took another couple of steps. “This camp has been on the to-do list for quite some time, but it’s such a big endeavor, both orders have been putting it off. The whole property reeks of repressed desire and warped sexual tension. What they are doing here doesn’t work… It simply suppresses it further into their subconscious until it drives them mad. Incubi and succubi gravitate towards energy like that. Given the opportunity to explore their subdued thoughts and desires, plus a healthy dose of sex demon pheromones and venom, campers and staff alike will be hard-pressed to, as they say it, ‘pray the gay away.’”

 

“And did your buddies in there owe you a favor, or…?”   
  


“Actually, they were Rowena’s idea. They’re all old friends of hers, apparently.”

 

With the last step conquered, all that was left was to walk to the car. Dean’s legs were growing stronger, and he began making independent steps now that they were on flatter ground. Cas noted his progress and moved his arm around his waist so Dean could walk more upright.

 

“How are you, uh, you know…”

 

“Not in the Pit?” Cas presumed point-blank.

 

Dean looked at him again, once again overwhelmed with how thankful he was to see Cas. He truly thought he’d never see him again. All hope was lost, he went off the deep end, and he was ready to suffer in that shock chair all night because it would be less painful than feeling the absence of the one he loved.

 

“Uh, yeah. I thought you were a goner, man.”

 

“Rowena put a cloaking spell on me. After your father’s men dropped me off, I messaged her on your phone and she came to my aid. She has more than a few tricks up her sleeve, it seems.”

 

“Uh huh,” Dean muttered skeptically. “I’d like to find out what exactly those are.”

 

Once at the limo door, Cas opened the door to let Dean in. Slipping into the long seat, Dean glanced to his side to see a wavy-haired man with bright eyes and a round face. Before he could form the request for identification, Cas sat on Dean’s other side and introduced them.

 

“Dean, this is Oskar. Rowena’s bondmate.”

 

With wide eyes and furrowed brows, Dean rolled his head to Cas and back at Oskar. “Wait, you’re… She’s your… Hold on.” He whipped back around to Cas. “Now I have even more questions. Didn’t you tell me they bonded like, hundreds of years ago? Shouldn’t they be, I dunno… dead?”

 

“Once I discovered the secret to eternal bondship,” Rowena explained as she reclined next to Oskar, “I found the concept of mortality to be… erm… greatly exaggerated. Initially, I formed a life-prolonging spell so we could see the world together. Three or four centuries go by, and we’re still exploring. So we decided to keep the spell going until we’re sick of this world.”

 

“Then we’ll grow old together, and spend the afterlife in bonded bliss,” Oskar finished with an adoring smile.

 

“And this bond spell I found on your blog,” Dean backtracked, “the fine print said you had to have a witch do it.”

 

“Oh I did — you do,” she concurred.

 

“But you weren’t a witch when you created the spell. You were still an incubus.”

 

“Aye. I spent many a free moment perfecting the bloody thing. Poor Oskar… he endured more than a few lonely nights while I learned the craft and prepared the ritual.”

 

“Then who did the spell?”

 

Rowena pursed her lips into a tight smile, but Oskar was the one who replied. “She did.”

 

“Wait, so,” Dean flustered. “You lied to me?”

 

“Not at all, laddie,” Rowena cooed. “By the time I learned everything I needed for my bond spell, I was more than qualified. Had an old crone tell me, just to make sure. Such a shame, she burned at the stake.”

 

“But I’ve summoned Cas before, using your spell. That makes me kinda witchy, don’t it? What exactly disqualified me from carrying out the bonding ritual?”

 

Rowena smiled slyly. “Not just a bonnie face, are’ye?”

 

“In theory, you could have done it yourself,” Oskar disclosed. “But it’s a pretty exhausting spell for a beginner. Even Rowena slept for two days after completing it.”

 

“Made the honeymoon a bit uneventful,” she guffawed.

 

“I would not recommend you do it yourself, and obviously, neither did she.”

 

“But,” Rowena interjected. “I might have an ulterior motive.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Do I have to give you my firstborn?”

 

Rowena did not relent from her tickled pink expression, but her eyes softened. “Relax, Dean. I just wanted to meet you and Cas. This love between Oskar and I, we’ve never seen anything like it. And then you hopped onto my blog and proved me wrong, after all these years. I simply had to see you two for myself.”

 

“You said you’d send us a witch close to Lawrence.”

 

“Ah, now that was a bit inflated,” she admitted. “Oskar and I just returned to the states after a long holiday in New Zealand. There are no reputable witches in your area, and with a spell this important, I would only trust myself to officiate. Plus, I had a feeling you’d need me.”

 

Dean blinked. “Okay, you were right on that one.”

 

“Thank you,” Cas piped up. “I could not have traversed undetected and extracted him without your assistance.”

 

Rowena shrugged smugly. “Call me sentimental, but I know true love when I see it.”

 

The ex-incubus and the soon-to-be shared an understanding glance. Although the air was clear, Dean couldn’t relax enough to fully accept the reality of his good fortune. He lived in a constant state of disquiet, never able to exhale. If things looked up enough for him to slacken his grip, something terrible would always happen, without fail. It drove him to continual trepidation — always looking over his shoulder, always expecting the worst.

 

He ran his hand over his face. He was so damaged. Maybe not all of it was from his upbringing, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit some of it was. He was conditioned, from birth, for a life of fear, passive surrender, and loss of autonomy. Fighting that did not come without backlash, and he had the post-traumatic stress to prove it.

 

But now, here he was. Cas was safe. Thank friggin’ everything. They were going to bind their souls together. It’s the life he wanted and now he was going to  _ have it.  _ He was going to get what he wanted. The concept was so foreign, it felt weird to even think about it.

 

Rowena and Oskar had begun conversing over cups of tea, so Dean leaned into Cas’ space and pulled his face to his. He kissed him with the fervor he wanted to back at camp, right after being rescued from that horrible chair. He kissed him without caring how needy or clingy it was. Cas was right here, and this was happening, and it was too much to take in.

 

“You’re so far outta my league, it’s not even funny,” Dean said against Cas’ mouth.

 

Cas raised a brow. “I find that hard to believe, given a side-by-side comparison of our works.” 

 

Although he begged to differ, Dean left it alone and got out of Cas’ face. He would have to put that on the list of things to have argumentative sex over. 

 

“Where to, boys?” Rowena asked after a sip from her cup. “The cloaking spell on Cas will work as long as we need it to. We can take our time.”

 

A spark of mischief turned up the corner of Dean’s mouth. The sun was still high in the sky when they left camp, which meant they had plenty of time before his dad’s evening service. The emotions would still be high from the commotion this morning. His allies would be in place. In a few phone calls, the board could be set.

 

It was a wild idea that would probably turn disastrous. But at the end of it all, he wanted to bind his soul to Cas on the very platform from which his father preached. It was spiteful and poetic. It was a giant “fuck you” to every vow of holy matrimony he ever oversaw. Funny, the idea of getting hitched there never held any appeal, until this very moment.

 

“My dad’s church,” Dean replied. “Hell, everybody’s already there. We just gotta show up.”

 

* * *

 

“From this passage,” Pastor John Winchester spoke, “we conclude that the Second Coming is imminent. We must be watchful. Vigilant. We should live every day with the knowledge that today could be the day!”

 

Half the congregation was dozing off. In all fairness, they had a long day. The sunrise service was filled with hymns that were inappropriately perky for that early in the morning. What woke everyone up was the regular service, in which the pastor’s son and another boy were turned in and tried like criminals. The potluck in the gym afforded plenty of time for gossip concerning the strange development, and now the evening service was in full swing.

 

No one heard from Mary or Sam since that morning. Most members assumed they’d be back by now, and the ones who weren’t asleep were planning on checking in on them as soon as John closed in prayer. Not everyone agreed with Mary, but she held the hearts of all who knew her just the same. Even those who sided with John still wanted to know that she was alright, even if she caused such a spectacle in the middle of church and disgraced her husband.

 

The subject of Dean, however, was a hotly debated topic. Some were convinced he got a girl pregnant and was faking being gay to cover it up. Others claimed he hired cops to chauffeur him in to gain attention in the name of fleeting teenage hormones. A few doomsdayers said he was the antichrist. They even found hidden Bible codes that spelled out his name — out of order, of course.

 

So when the pew warmers began hearing a disturbance in the vestibule voiced by confused ushers and strong words from a familiar preacher’s son, it was enough to awaken most from their slumber and the rest to turn in their seats. The voices were getting louder, Dean’s most of all. A couple of unfamiliar voices punctuated the commotion, setting the congregation on edge as they looked from the vestibule doors, back up to John.

 

The pastor cleared his throat, voice straining to remain steady and eyes fixed ahead. “In that day, there will be wars and rumors of wars. Do not fear, for they are signs of the end times —”

 

“And all God’s people said, a-freakin’-men!”

 

Every head turned to face the back of the auditorium. Dean swung the doors open wide to signal his return, strolling into the carpeted auditorium like he owned the place. He wore a shit-eating grin and enough self-assurance to make Pride of the Seven Deadly Sins blush. Folding his arms over his chest, he paused a few steps in to scan the full house, ending his surveillance by looking back up to his dad.

 

“Heya, Pops.”

 

John’s shaky exhale was audible through the speaker system.

 

“Looks like the gay-to-straight conversion didn’t quite stick,” Dean announced. “I guess you’re stuck with my queer ass for good.”

 

“What are you doing back here?”

 

Dean managed a nod at the fair question. He could feel his father’s unease from the other end of the room and it was fantastic. The soft creak of the vestibule door opening again indicated another entry, and a smile tugged at his cheeks when a familiar hand intertwined their fingers.

 

“Well y’see, me and Cas here, we made bets on just how big of a wuss you are.” Dean ignored the rising volume of hissing whispers amongst the congregants. He spun Cas around and dipped him, muscles holding up thanks to a healing spell Rowena cast while in the limo. “See, Cas here thinks you’re gonna lose your lunch watching us kiss. Me?” He shrugged. “I’d like to think you can hold off until we finish roasting your ass.”

 

“Will someone please remove —”

 

“Tell me,  _ Pastor Winchester, _ ” Dean emphasized. “Does the whole church know you beat your sons half to death or do you keep that between you and the Lord?”

 

Dean didn’t wait for the response. His arms were getting tired and Cas was more solid than he looked. He smashed their lips together, which turned to a smug smile as people around him gasped and let out shocked yelps.

 

“That is… That was discipline,” John stammered, clearly distracted by the scene. “I stand by that, as any level-headed parent should. The one at fault here is you, Dean. You need help!”

 

Dean lifted Cas back to his feet and broke the kiss. “Oh, I need help, alright. I’m messed up in the head, and it’ll probably take years to undo. But it’s not because of this guy.”

 

“If we have visitors in our midst, I sincerely apologize. We don’t usually have a day full of such uncalled for —”

 

“I bet you don’t even know where Mom is,” Dean interrupted, pointing a finger. The congregation fell quiet. “I bet you called once and then shrugged it off. I bet you think she’s back at home, praying by the bed, asking forgiveness.”

 

John’s brows creased as he moved from behind the pulpit to beside it. He leaned on the sturdy wooden frame as he crossed a foot. “Shouldn’t she be?”

 

Dean’s smile melted into a sickened glare. His phone conversation with her was still fresh in his mind. They talked while he and Cas were in the limo, en route to the church. Having no idea what went down after she took off that morning, he was overjoyed to hear her voice and asked half a dozen questions before losing breath, allowing her to get a word in edgewise:

 

 

_ “I went to the police station,” she told him over the phone that afternoon. Sitting beside him in Rowena’s limo, Cas leaned in to listen to the conversation. “I gave Sheriff Mills a description of the officers that kidnapped you and Cas. She assured me they would be dealt with, and then asked if I needed anything.” _

 

_ “What’d you tell her?” _

 

_ “I asked for a job. Anything — clerical, dispatcher, I didn’t care. I just needed to know I’d have a paycheck. I’m getting out, Dean. I’m leaving him.” _

 

 

Remembering his mom’s words made him swell with pride. She had a set on her, that was for sure, and knowing it made Dean a little bit braver. The fact that it would piss his dad off was nice, too.

 

“She’s leaving your sorry ass,” Dean announced. “Packed up while you losers were stuffing your faces at the potluck.”

 

“But she’s… She can’t…”

 

“She got a job at the police station. She’s gonna sort paperwork and make sure schedules don’t get effed up. She says hi and you’re welcome to visit anytime. Just kidding, she says stay the hell away from her, or every single cop in Lawrence will be on your tail. Actually, I said that part. Whatever.”

 

Dean walked toward the pulpit as John sputtered confused noises. It was music to his ears. His dad was rendered speechless. Absolutely fucking priceless. Cas followed him closely as congregants continued to glower at them.

 

“I’m… Sh-she… B-but… She can’t just… Uh, um…”

 

Cheeks dimpling from smirking so hard, Dean put his hand to his ear. “What’s that, Dad? She’s a bad example? She’s unsubmissive? She needs to shut up and ‘stand by her man’?”

 

He knew all the lingo. So did everyone around him, with the exception of Cas, but he knew this was Dean’s world and remained quiet. Now standing at the foot of the altar, Dean thought about the contrast between now and just hours before. Same people, place, and positions, but this time, John took a timid step back when Dean put his foot on the first step.

 

“I think I feel the spirit moving,” Dean enunciated devoutly as he took another step. “I feel led to open up the pulpit for testimonies. You love those, don’t you?”

 

John swallowed and stepped backward, gripping onto his podium anxiously.

 

“You wouldn’t deny someone the chance to tell the congregation what the Lord has been doing in their life, would you… Pastor Winchester?”

 

“Get away from this pulpit,” John said darkly.

 

Dean pouted, shaking his head and walked the rest of the way up with Cas in tow. He stepped behind the pulpit, now sharing the space with his father, and stood facing him, less than a foot of space between them. He held the position for a few seconds, staring him down. Dean knew John wouldn’t dare do anything physical in front of all these people. 

 

“Please be seated, preacher,” Dean advised.

 

“Ahem,” a skittish voice echoed from the pews. 

 

Both Winchesters turned toward the noise. In the middle of the crowd, Chuck Shurley stood nervously, clutching onto several sheets of wide-ruled paper. He shifted his footing uneasily as he met the eyes of everyone who turned around to stare at him, then scooted out of the pew in a series of “excuse me”s and “pardon me”s.

 

“Ah, Brother Shurley. Please come forward and share your testimony with us.”

 

Chuck smiled sheepishly at Dean, who stood aside to give him room after his warm welcome. John reluctantly followed suit, backing off and taking a seat in the empty choir loft. Once Chuck noisily spread his notes across the wide wooden slab, he cleared his throat and bent the mic a little lower.

 

“I’m just gonna — Oh,” he paused as feedback screeched over the sound system. After fiddling with the mic more, filling the air with crackling noises in the process, he settled in and continued. “As you all know, I recently became the church treasurer.”

 

Dean felt John’s eyes on him but didn’t budge. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, being on the platform was still nerve-wracking, even as a preacher’s kid, and he didn’t want any public speaking jitters to be misinterpreted as lack of confidence in what he was presently doing. Instead, he scanned the crowd until he caught the eye of Mr. Talley, who he had also spoken with on the way there:

 

 

_ “Should you be telling me this?” Dean questioned, pressing the phone closer to his ear in the limo. Yes, taking inventory of smear campaign-worthy information and rallying his forces was important, but this felt dirty. He felt like he was listening to information far too personal to see the light of day. _

 

_ “Brother Shurley can confirm the financial records. It fits with the facts I already know.” _

 

_ “Mr. Talley, if what you’re saying is true…” _

 

_ “I know, Dean. I know.” _

 

_ “I have… another brother?” _

 

 

“And as you know,” Chuck went on, “we’re supposed to vote on where the money goes. Like, with everything. Missions, clergy salary, outreach programs… You name it, we decide together. Well, part of my job is to uh… make sure everything stays within its assigned budget. But I found something... really interesting…” He looked across the puzzled congregation and sighed. “There’s an account in the books from way, way back. It’s untitled, and basically, a random amount of dollars are thrown into there every once in a while for seemingly no reason.”

 

John’s voice made him jump. “Brother Chuck, I assure you —”

 

“Nuh uh,” Dean scolded, holding up a finger and sending death glares to his father. “Wait.”

 

“Recently, a withdrawal took place in the amount that the pastor announced would be given to the person to turn Dean in.” Chuck’s voice was shaking now. He gripped onto the sides of the pulpit, feeling light-headed but willing himself to get through his notes. “Church members, as your financial steward, I must bring this to light. By a show of hands, who knew the money you faithfully give in tithes and offerings is being used for this?”

 

Not a single person raised their hands. 

 

“Although this was the first thing I noticed, it’s not the only thing. If Mr. Talley would join me, please.”

 

“You’re accusing me of embezzlement,” John spoke up again.

 

“Please,” Chuck said, looking over his shoulder with a placating hand. “Please, just wait, if you would, sir.” He turned back around, getting his bearings on his spread of notes. “The account in question is fourteen years old, and the only other activity from its inception to the most recent withdrawal is a repeating payment of the same amount, made every month to the order of one Kate Milligan.”

 

Leaning on a cane, Mr. Tally took care to avoid stepping too hard on his injured leg as he climbed the platform steps. He stood beside Chuck behind the pulpit and adjusted the mic upwards. “Good evening, friends. Quite some time ago, the pastor planned a business meeting with us deacons. It’s not an unusual request, as spiritual leaders often seek the counsel of their most trusted advisors. But that time in particular, he did not ask for our advice. He asked for our silence.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and looked across the congregation. So far the responses were varied, as expected. Some of these old fogies were too stuck in their ways, but in others, he could already see the change in their eyes. 

 

“Some of you might remember, nearly a decade and a half ago, our pastor attending a week-long leadership conference,” Mr. Talley continued. “Before leaving, one of the deacons questioned the location of the conference. He responded by meeting with us, telling us that it was in Milwaukee, but to not bore the congregation with such details in his absence. We were all so trusting, we didn’t question him.”

 

Chuck shuffled through his notes, looking for the next bit of pertinent information while Mr. Talley wrapped up his findings.

 

“Before my last service here, I did some digging. There were no leadership conferences that week, in Milwaukee or any surrounding towns. There was, however, a revival service here two weeks prior, and one of the guests we have on record is Kate Milligan. It is interesting to note that nine months after the supposed ‘leadership conference’, she gave birth to a son named Adam.”

 

“It is also interesting to note,” Chuck piped up, “that Adam Milligan’s birthday is the exact day our pastor set up recurring payments with the untitled account.”

 

Dean faced the choir loft, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability for the sake of seeing the reaction on his dad’s face. His skin was uncharacteristically pale against dark eyes, which were wide with the blow of his exposure. He gripped onto the choir seat like letting go would fling him into hell itself. Like he was staring directly into the fiery flames.

 

“Thank you both,” Dean said, approaching the pulpit. The two men nodded to him in acknowledgment and Mr. Talley made his way down the platform steps while Chuck gathered his notes. As they found their seats, Dean took a deep breath. It was taking everything within him not to raise his voice, but he wanted to do this a certain way. He wanted the whole trial to be low-simmering and slightly too calm. He wanted the congregation’s emotions heightened long before it showed in his voice.

 

“An account none’a you folks voted on,” he listed, adjusting the mic as he spoke. Being experienced with church equipment, he knew to handle it from further down to avoid scratchy noises. “Recurring payments that nobody has questioned, and a leadership conference that didn’t happen.” A humorless laugh left him. “And I might be wrong, but isn’t ‘thou shalt not commit adultery’ like, the seventh commandment?”

 

The congregation was a spread of scandalized slack jaws and wide eyes. A few gave Dean dirty looks, but most of them were looking at John. Their expressions spoke of betrayal, like they were questioning everything the pastor ever told them. Like their entire lives were a series of lies.

 

Dean allowed himself to find Adam Milligan’s gaze. He was in the middle row, dead center. Something unspoken cemented between them as they shared this shattering moment. The poor kid had no clue — it was written all over his face.

 

“That why he moved down here to live with his aunt?” Dean prodded, turning to face his father. “That why he’s looking up at me like his whole life just changed?”

 

John swallowed hard and held up his palms. “Dean, listen. Katie… She doesn’t mean anyth— I made a mistake.”

 

“You cheated on Mom,” Dean seethed through gritted teeth. His fingers brushed the camp pen still in his pocket. He snapped it in half. “You meet some girl, you go have a secret fling, and you hide it from everybody. And then you come back home and do marriage counseling. Really?”

 

A gentle hand on his arm made him realize he was trembling. He looked down at his hand to see blue ink soaking into his skin, then turned to see Cas calmly standing by. He brushed his fingers over Cas’ with his clean hand, letting the touch bring him back to the present. After a cleansing breath, he returned to the mic.

 

“This is your pastor. Your shepherd.” Dean’s voice was steadier, but he felt no less shaken. The flock listening to him so intently looked just as horrified as he did when he first heard the news. Someone in the back row began sniffing back tears. “This is the guy who decided I’m unworthy to be his son.”

 

“Okay, that’s enough,” John said as he stood up. Dean spun around to see him rapidly approaching him.

 

“Hey,” a feminine voice called out.

 

John’s long strides halted. Both men turned towards the voice to see Meg Masters on her feet. She was on the edge of a pew but made no moves to come forward. A few people around her turned in their seat to watch her as she spoke; others simply listened while facing Dean.

 

“For what it’s worth,” she announced, “I’m Team Dean all the way.”

 

A half smile crawled across Dean’s cheek, but John grumbled, “I always knew you were trouble, Miss Masters.”

 

“You’re an embezzling adulterer, but I’m the bad influence? Okay,” she said with a casual shrug as she took her seat.

 

“Oh, and uh,” Dean interjected, “punching me in the face doesn’t count as discipline. Neither does kicking me in the gut.”

 

“You’re making that up,” John derided.

 

Dean slipped his phone out, pressing the screen a few times before finding a photo. It was time stamped the morning after the demonic oppression-prompted incident, taken in front of the bathroom mirror before his mom came back upstairs with her makeup bag. The bruises were at their worst, purple and blue with tinges of sickly yellow. The boot shape pointed across his stomach, while his face bore evidence of a heavy punch.

 

“You sure about that?”

 

John squinted at the screen before stepping back, tensing up at the sight of photographic evidence. His mouth opened and closed like a fish while Dean locked his phone and nodded towards the opening vestibule door.

 

“I dunno, sir. I’m no cop, but that looks like assault and battery to me.”

 

John furrowed his brows at Dean’s words, but followed his line of sight, only to spot Officer Hanscum strolling in, pausing to let the door close behind her. She stood at ease, waiting silently but drawing the attention of a few nearby members. Dean released some of the tension in his shoulders. He never thought he’d live to see the day when he’d actually be happy about seeing a cop.

 

 

_ “Jody is going to handle the people who disobeyed her direct orders,” Mary had said during their phone conversation while en route to the church. “She’s sending her best officers with you to extract your father. There will be an officer at every door, plus someone inside with you.” _

 

_ The plan was a good one, but Dean couldn’t shake his worry over his mother and brother. “What about you?” _

 

_ “My name is on our bank accounts and I start work tomorrow. Sam and I will be okay.” _

 

 

“Another thing,” Dean threw in, like an afterthought. “I’m not sure if threatening my boyfriend’s safety while holding him against his will counts as, oh I don’t know, kidnapping and blackmail, but if so… I’ll go ahead and throw that onto the police report, too. Ah, speaking of blackmail.” Dean turned his attention to Tessa, who stiffened against her front row seat.

 

Her eyes were huge balls of white against mortified dark irises. She was a pale thing, anyway, but the rest of the color drained from her face. Her lips smashed together in a thin line as if she was trying to keep from screaming in fright.

 

“I figured out how you and Gordon got in cahoots. Sammy told me the teens have been taking to the streets on visitation.” Dean’s smile got bigger as Tessa shrunk further and further into her seat. “See, Gordon already knows me. You met Gordon, he recognized the church name and asked about me. Eventually, you two discovered the one thing you have in common: opportunism. He wanted money; you wanted a sperm donor with a pedigree.”

 

Officer Hanscum listened to the whole thing, waiting until the end to mutter something into her radio. Dean couldn’t make out the whole request, but he was pretty sure the words “extra cuffs” and “in for questioning” were in there somewhere. In conclusion of the dissemination of Tessa’s extortion, Dean gave her last one smug grin before addressing the rest of the congregation.

 

“Does anyone else have a testimony they’d like to share?”

 

The congregation he stared at now was barely recognizable from the one he grew up in. One woman with a hat pinned in her hair had red eyes and a tissue to her nose. A family of four all wore the same expression of utter shock. The old guy in the corner who was usually asleep by the second hymn looked like he found a fly in his soup. Most of the people sitting looked like they wanted out, more than anything, but stayed put just to hear out this development til the end.

 

Before Dean could register that it was really her, Jo was halfway to the platform. Jo, who never gave testimony after youth camp. Jo, who barely spoke five words to him outside of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. She looked nervous about taking on the steps in heels, so Dean moved to the side and offered his hand, which she accepted as she took the final few paces to the pulpit. Gripping the podium with both hands, she leaned toward the mic.

 

“What Pastor John is doing,” she said before rearing back a bit when the sound system boomed her voice across the sanctuary louder than she expected. “The way he’s making you feel… The way he’s controlling you… It’s really messed up. And now, all of you have to make a decision. I’ve made mine.”

 

Dean offered a grateful smile as she backed away from the pulpit and stood at his side, opposite of Cas. The three of them stood in the middle, with John on the corner of the platform by the choir loft. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shifting his footing nervously while looking across the pews of people. Not two seconds after Jo’s ultimatum, Meg and Lisa rose to their feet. Benny followed, and then the Talleys. 

 

One by one, more people stepped onto the platform, until it was too crowded, so they began gathering at the altar. Cas nudged closer, holding Dean’s waist as people kept pressing against them. Dean squeezed him back, a lump forming in his throat at the exodus of people leaving their seats and joining him in solidarity. He pressed his lips to Cas’ forehead as he watched. He had no idea so many people would come forward.

 

Of course, there were the usual suspects. Alan Corbett and Ed Zeddmore, holding hands, no less. Both sets of parents watched them with contempt from the comfort of their pews. Chuck was one of the last ones to fit on the platform and wound up on the top step after almost falling off. Ketch mosied down, all posh and unassuming. He looked confused when Dean suppressed a laugh at the memory of him in the seance room with Gary.

 

On the other side of the platform stood his father, looking at those who were still in their pews. Many remained seated, which wasn’t surprising, but Dean was pleased with the number they managed to shake out of their stupor. Ms. Bevell gathered her things and stood up, eyes fixed on John.

 

“I stand with neither of you,” she stated bluntly. “I do not condone the pastor’s actions, but that does not mean I condone those of his son. Good day.” With that, she marched out of the sanctuary. 

 

Yes, she was an ass, and her high-and-mighty air made Dean want to roll his eyes, but she sparked another movement. Inspired by her absolute intolerance, several other members followed her out, including two deacons, Brother Zeke, and Mick Davies. Dean’s lip turned up when one of the church’s top donators slipped out, too. They were all bigwigs, and now, they were all gone. 

 

“The pastor is a man of God,” Tessa spun around to bark at the rest of the church. “He’s our Moses! Besides, he doesn’t claim to be perfect —”

 

“Wrong,” Garth cut her off. He was already at the altar, along with Pam Barnes, Jessica Moore’s family, Adam, and everyone else siding with Dean and Cas. “He not only claims it, he demands it. Jo is right, and we’re done with it.” He looked up at John. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir.”

 

Biting his lip, Dean’s eyes dragged back to his father. There the pastor stood, with a congregation split three ways, without his family or his mighty pillars of the church. All that remained were a few stragglers who were too set in their ways to leave and too poor to give more than 10% every week. Dean let out a long-expected exhale. It was done.

 

“You know,” Dean added, “with this big of a pay cut, I don’t think you stand a chance getting custody of Sam.”

 

John’s scathing glare had long since melted into uncertainty. He looked… scared. Dean relished it with every fiber of his being but felt a slight pang at the end. Even after all this, he wanted to believe his dad could change. There had to be a redeemable man in there somewhere. Surely he could rectify his wrongdoings. Surely he could see the err of his ways when so many had already seen it before him.

 

Dean didn’t expect the lump in his throat to choke into a sob and for tears to well in his eyes. He didn’t expect to feel this way after tearing down the church hierarchy. He was happy, and proud, and devastated. He full-on Samsoned this bitch and knocked down the central pillars, sending the roof toppling down on himself, too. 

 

And at the end of it all, his sentimental ass still wanted his dad to redeem himself. Dean would never forgive him, not by a long shot. Not for every bruise, homophobic insult, or moment of unadulterated fear. Those things could never, ever be reversed. The damage had been done, whether he was sorry or not, and Dean was stuck with the consequences. But in the back of his mind, he wondered if someday, he would change.

 

“Dad,” he entreated one last time. “Please.”

 

And for a split second, John faltered. His eyes shifted and his jaw unclenched, and Dean knew he was a fool to suck in a sharp breath of air in anticipation because holding his breath was no use, but he wanted this so bad. He wanted his dad to stop with the crusade, and the power trip, and the manipulation. Dean told himself that after this answer, he was done. He would allow his father to emotionally own him no more. That bridge was getting burned.

 

Regaining his composure, John Winchester slowly shook his head and said, simply, “No.”

 

A stale breath left Dean’s nose. He hunched over as sob shook him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Cas wrapped both arms around him, holding him close so Dean could lay his head on his shoulder. Cas’ gentle fingers found their way to the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. The smooth motions soothed him. 

 

He clung onto Cas while getting it all out, allowing anger and disappointment to escape in the form of tears. He hated this — crying in public. But somehow, it wasn’t as bad, hiding on Cas’ shoulder and letting him absorb the brunt of his outburst. With every heavy breath, he grew a little bit calmer, a little more stable. 

 

After he settled down, he leaned on Cas a little bit more, taking in the knowledge that this — being with Cas — was his future now. It grounded him, cleansed him. It felt good. Down the road, surely phantom manipulations of his father’s guilt would haunt him, but for now, he was untainted. For now, the slate was clean.

 

Furthermore, with the finality of the severed connection between him and his upbringing, Dean felt more than a cleansing. It was strange, like there was something missing. Only, the thing missing was an awful fetter to his past and ridiculous expectations of a life he could never live. It was a weight lifted off his shoulders and release from heavy chains. It was deliverance, and autonomy, and the right to rule his own fate.

 

What was the word?  _ Free.  _ He was free.

 

Ah, so that’s what that feels like.

 

“Alright, Mr. Winchester,” Officer Hanscum said at a much closer proximity than the vestibule door. Dean gripped Cas tighter as a realization hit him. He didn’t want to watch. His dad would be cuffed, and led out, and followed by a few sad church members. He’d be put in the back of a patrol car and taken to the station to be processed and questioned. And he didn’t want to see it.

“You too, young lady,” she added, voice directed to the front row. Dean smiled at that. “Don’t you try anything funny. We’ve got the place surrounded. Hang tight while I take the pastor outside.”

Dean lifted his head, just to take a peek at the people still there. When he fell into Cas’ arms, he turned away from his dad and towards the assembly of people gathered on and near the platform, so when he looked up, he was met with nothing but friends. All like-minded folk as deplorable as he, some smiling, some crying, some both — but all allies.

When he stood upright, Cas kept his hands on him loosely so he could turn his head to scan the empty pews. His suspicion was correct. Those loyal to John Winchester had followed him and Officer Hanscum out. Tessa was gone, too. With no one within earshot interested in what she had to say and her beloved pastor in a cop car, she must have gone quietly. 

It was strange to see the rest of the church empty. It was before dismissal time, but even afterward, there were always people lingering to chat. Hymnals sat on the pews. The piano and organ sat vacantly. There was no altar call, no sinner’s prayer, no Just As I Am.

_ Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors, and —  _

“Hallelujah, all you beautiful people!”

The cantankerous yell tore everyone’s attention to the vestibule door, which Ash had swung open to signal his arrival. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the scene before him, squinting at empty pews before blinking curiously at everyone gathered at the altar. Jo rubbed her head in her hands as he marched down the aisle.

“Now, Dean here says I can’t say ‘fuck’ around y’all — Oh… Aw, shit,” he bellowed. 

To Dean’s relief, most of the people around him at least chuckled. A few laughed, then looked around to make sure they weren’t the only ones laughing. One or two hid their wide smiles behind their hands, apprehensive about finding humor in vulgar language on a Sunday.

From the bottom of the steps, he leaped onto the platform in two bounds. “So this is what I’ve got to work with, hmm? Not a bad-lookin' crowd. Everybody sit down. We’re doing half-priced shots after the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” Jessica Moore questioned.

“Right on. These two lovebirds are getting hitched.” Ash stood behind Dean and Cas and clapped their shoulders roughly. “Only, it’s not really what you fine folks might call a ‘wedding’. There’s gonna be a lot more, uh… animal bones, incantations, and handfasting. Little bit’a blood, too.”

“Oh, pagan weddings have handfasting,” she noted enthusiastically. 

Ash gave an approving point. “You know what? Close enough. Alright amigos, let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was longer than I wanted it to be, but it's kind of an explosion of information, so I guess I'm not sorry? See you on Wednesday for the long-awaited SOUL-BINDING CEREMONY! <3 *throws rice*


	24. Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the church split, Dean and Cas unite their souls in an eternal bond, surrounded by friends and family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! Since Dean and Cas get “hitched” on a Sunday, I thought it’d be cool to release this chapter on a Sunday. Enjoy and see you on Wednesday for the 25th and final chapter! <3

It felt different without two-thirds of the usual Sunday night crowd, and not just from the obvious lack of warm bodies and chattering voices. The third remaining was a completely different congregation; one Dean hardly recognized. Without the pressures and complications previously put on them, they exuded more unity than any assembly could manufacture.

 

At Ash’s prompt, the crowd dispersed excitedly, finding new spots in the first few rows. Dean watched them from the top of the platform steps, the absence of the usual tension and stiffness of this space not lost on him. They conversed among themselves, waiting for the ceremony to begin in relaxed camaraderie. They seemed… happy.

 

Dean couldn’t help but beam when none other than Charlie Bradbury burst through the door. Cas followed Dean down the steps, falling behind as Dean darted up the aisle to throw his arms around her. She laughed as he clung to her like letting go would make everything go away.

 

“I have so many questions, Winchester.”

 

He held her closer. “It’s okay, everything is…” The rest got caught in his throat somewhere, and he swallowed it down before blinking away an itching behind his eyes that usually signaled tears.

 

“I tried to figure out where they had taken you. All of us did. Me, Lisa, Benny… But,” she trailed off as the quivering in her voice made it more difficult to speak. “How did you escape?”

 

Dean exhaled, pulling away and tilting his head toward Cas.

 

“Super Cas to the rescue, huh? That’s grossly cute.”

 

Smiling, he turned to see his beloved closeby. “Charlie, this is Cas,” he introduced, standing by Cas with his hand on the small of his back. “Cas, meet Charlie.”

 

“Hey,” she said buoyantly, sticking out her hand.

 

“Hello, Miss Bradbury,” Cas replied, taking her hand like humans did. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

 

“Same. Apparently, you’re like, the best guy ever. Which is impossible, because Dean is. So I guess you deserve each other.”

 

Cas nodded pleasantly. “Well, I concur with your assessment. That makes two votes against one.”

 

Charlie winked and tapped her fist against Cas’ arm. “Good answer. He passed my test, Winchester.”

 

Dean put his hands in his pockets, swaying contentedly. Although immersed in the conversation, his eye strayed every so often to the vestibule. They were close enough to the door to see almost the whole room through the glass, and he was expecting a couple more people before beginning the ceremony. He could see Rowena preparing a bag of supplies on a bench near the door, but no one else, yet.

 

“By the way,” Charlie drew out like she was about to reveal a big secret. “Guess who’s going to live with her aunt!”

 

Dean’s brows hiked up. “Seriously?”

 

“Yeah, after the whole camp fiasco, I told my parents they could either check off the ‘she/her box’ on my school enrollment, or I was going to spend the night at my aunt’s house for the next seventy-two days.” She flashed a half smile. “Mofos couldn’t handle any more of this.”

 

Her voice strained to make the last part sound optimistic, and Dean saw right through it. He matched her half smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was selfish for letting his mind go there because  _ Charlie had won;  _ she was going somewhere she would be treated well and feel safe. But her aunt lived out of town, which made face-to-face visits more scarce by nature. She knew it too, and her expression told him she had mixed feelings. 

 

“That means you won’t have to see our sorry faces anymore.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m going to come down and bug you every weekend. Now,” she patted her messenger bag, “I’m gonna run and change real quick. It’s your special day and I feel super underdressed… and gross, after sitting in that church bus. Which I still have questions about, by the way. But another time.”

 

There was so much to say. So much they could say, to the tune of blackmail, making a deal, and every unspoken word as their buses passed each other on that dirty backwoods road. And there would be plenty of time to say those things, but not today.

 

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Dean promised. 

 

He meant it, too. It might be tomorrow, or it might be next weekend, but some things just needed to be said. The idea of talking about what happened at conversion camp made him feel ill but imagining Charlie being the one to hear it made it seem less awful. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk about it… with anyone. But he would, to her, because she would listen. She was so close to stepping into that nightmare, it felt like they were there together after all.

 

Dean caught sight of a mess of red hair in the corner of his eye when Charlie left for the vestibule bathrooms. Keeping the door open just enough to poke her head out, Rowena stood with her colorful bag by her side.

 

“It’s time, m’dear,” she said.

 

“I know, I’m just… Can it wait a few more minutes?”

 

“The moon is at the ideal spot for the ritual. We need to get a move on.” It was kind but firm. She knew what she was doing, and they needed to do it now. Rowena disappeared into the vestibule again to finalize her spellwork.

 

Dean was disheartened. Glancing at his phone, he tried to ignore the sounds of chatter in the first few rows. With no new texts, he put it away and turned to Cas, who looked far more sure of himself than Dean did. 

 

“They’ll be here,” Cas assured him.

 

Dean looked down, toeing the carpet, and sighed. “How do you know?”

 

“Because I still have my heightened sense of smell.”

 

Squinting, Dean furrowed his brows as Cas did nothing but stare expectedly at the door. Dean looked out the panel windows lining every row. It was dark, and according to Rowena, time to begin the ritual. They really, really couldn’t wait any longer, and Cas’ cryptic statement didn’t make sense… until the vestibule door opened.

 

There his mom was, in her Sunday best, accompanied by Sam, also looking sharp. With an elated laugh, Dean lunged into her arms, all worries melting away in her embrace. Sam joined the group hug, and for the first time in a long, long time, Dean knew they were all safe.

 

Getting out what he needed to say seemed impossible. Backtracking to that morning, he almost addressed her brave stand in the pew. Or perhaps he should bring up how glad he was that she couldn’t find the camp, because he would’ve never wanted her to see him like that. He almost spoke of their afternoon of packing, a mere breath away from teasing Sam about boxes upon boxes of hair products. None of it was coming out, so he just sighed and started with the one subject he would never tire of; the introduction he had been looking forward to for a long time.

 

“Mom,” he said as they all pulled away. “This is Cas.” 

 

Mary’s smile wasn’t the fake one that usually happened when the boyfriend meets the parents. She puffed up with pride, reaching out to invite Cas in for a hug too, which he gladly accepted. He glanced over her shoulder at Dean for affirmation, who nodded in approval. Mary was only the second human Cas had ever hugged, so the apprehension was to be expected.

 

“I’m glad to meet you,” Cas said as she stood back to address him.

 

“I heard you were quite the hero today. That place John sent Dean to is almost impossible to get out of once you sign your life away. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m so grateful. It’s an honor to meet you, Cas.”

 

Dean grinned. Well, that took care of parental approval. When he turned to Sam, however, he could see the distrust in his eyes.

 

“And uh, Cas, this is Sam.”

 

Cas reached out his hand like he was supposed to. “Hello —”

 

“Dean, can I speak with you for a second? Privately?” Sam interrupted, making no moves to take his hands out of his pockets.

 

“Uh, no,” Dean replied curtly. “We don’t have time, Sam. We need to begin the ceremony.” All he needed to do was slip up and say  _ ritual  _ in front of the only other person in here who knew what Cas was. That would go over well.

 

“Seriously, Dean. I need to talk to you.”

 

Dean sighed and smiled at his mom and Cas. “How about you two find seats?” Mary nodded and began walking down the aisle, but before Cas could follow, Dean grabbed his hand. “Have her hold your arm and walk her to her seat.” When Cas responded with confusion, Dean let go and pressed his lower back to urge him on. “It’s a thing… with humans. It’s polite. She’ll like you even more.”

 

Liking that idea, Cas brightened as he caught up with Mary. Now alone with Sam, Dean bit his lip and shrugged. Sam cleared his throat and leaned on one foot sourly.

 

“I recognize him, Dean. I realized who he was when Dad made you introduce him. He gave his name on the Ouija board that night at the lock-in. The only thing that’s different about him is that he looks human now. Is he?”

 

“He will be, soon,” Dean assured him calmly.

 

“A demon, dude. Do you realize how messed up that sounds?”

 

“Yes, Sam, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

 

“Is he controlling you? Does he take you away whenever he wants? Is he —”

 

“No, shut up,” Dean hissed under his breath. “It’s not like that. We fell in love, alright? Geez, what do you want me to say? That we dated like a normal human couple, went to prom together, and got engaged under a moonlit night?”

 

“No, you shut up. I’m just freaking out, okay? You fell in love with a demon.”

 

“An incubus, if you remember.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam paused to shake his head incredulously. “And now he’s becoming human because…?”

 

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. He pursed his lips, unsure of how much he could tell without revealing his soul’s fate. “We’re binding our souls together. The process makes him human, so we don’t have to live apart.”

 

“And… that’s it? You’re good?”

 

There was no use bullshitting someone like Sam. Dean hated lying, to his brother most of all. He sucked at it. Foregoing the convincing smile he kept on tap, he opted instead for as much truth as he could disclose without saying words like  _ eternity in hell.  _

 

“This is what I want.”

 

Appeased, Sam nodded back and exhaled. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

 

Dean couldn’t bring himself to break the news to his family that his soul was bound for a different place than theirs, so he conveniently left that part out. When he added it all up, the choice was clear. Having Cas was a package deal, and he was taking the good with the bad. He figured if the opportunity came, he would tell them… eventually. Maybe. For now, however, it was time for a blood ritual.

 

Rowena’s spread of animal bones and herbs were a dead giveaway that this was going to be kind of witchy. The small crowd watched her spellwork in silence, fear of the unknown giving way to curiosity. It wasn’t every Sunday the preacher’s son split the church and invited a witch to do a ritual. At this point, no one had the wherewithal to pass judgment on something they didn’t understand, especially after watching their former pastor’s adultery, hypocrisy, and misappropriation of funds exposed.

 

The change of pace was nice. 

 

With the pulpit scooted out of the way, the bonding couple facing each other over Rowena’s handkerchief full of spell ingredients, and a circle of rose petals cast around the three of them, it was a beautiful ceremony to witness. Rowena recited an incantation once, twice, three times, while tearing herbs and tossing them into the handkerchief laid out between Cas and Dean. 

 

It was unlike anything the congregants had ever seen. It was outside of their comfort zone; something the pastor would have never approved of. Maybe that was what made it so perfect. It fit Dean to a T — outrageous, blatantly rebellious, and refreshingly so. It was a breath of fresh air. The first step on a completely different path — one filled with light and freedom.

 

Holding her hand over the ingredients to charge them, Rowena closed her eyes in concentration. After a moment of silence, she opened her eyes again, letting out a tired exhale and reaching into her bag. Adding a small bone and a sachet of black salt to the herbs, she recited the verse again. It was in another language, but it sounded pretty central to the spell, so everyone listened intently.

 

When it came time to give blood, Dean nearly laughed from giddiness. He wore his excitement in the form of a wide grin that he couldn’t control, and Cas couldn’t help but smile back. They must have looked like such love-struck idiots. Dean didn’t even care.

 

He expected Rowena to bring out some big ass ornate knife from like, the fourteenth century, but instead, she took a needle from a small drawstring bag. He looked down at her inquisitively as she held it between two fingers.

 

“Only takes a bit,” she clarified. “Blood magick is very powerful.”

 

Content with her explanation, Dean held out his hand for her to prick his finger. He held back from making a Sleeping Beauty joke as she squeezed his finger over the spell ingredients. She brought out a different needle, repeating the motion on Cas, and Dean watched their blood mix with the herbs, bone, and salt. It was a straightforward spell with very little demand but demanded a lot of energy. Dean didn’t miss the look of sheer exhaustion on Rowena’s face as she pulled a long, thin rope out of her bag.

 

“You alright?” he asked her quietly.

 

“Aye, nothin’ a wee nap cannot fix” she replied. “Join hands for the handfasting.”

 

All in all, it was different than anything Dean had envisioned. He had attended his share of weddings, growing up the way he did, and although he saw the appeal, they were showy, expensive things full of strange traditions. He felt pressure, even as a single young man, to have his a very specific way when the time came. Invite the entire church, do all the weird shit, and have it at, yes, church. Turning it on its head and inviting himself, with his man on his arm, and letting the weaklings weed themselves out… That was so much better.

 

Those who stayed, no matter where they scattered after this, would remain in his heart. With the pastor put away and the congregation torn three ways, uncertainty loomed on the horizon. No one had approached him about taking up the pastoral position, but a few people were giving him  _ that look _ , like he was Simba climbing Pride Rock. 

 

No friggin’ thanks. Like father, like son wasn’t how church politics were supposed to work, if he was going to get technical; then again, his dad never did pay mind to democracy unless it was in his favor. Expecting Dean to take up the job was his way of ensuring his legacy be passed on, and well, that ship had sailed.

 

Cas took Dean’s hands, an adoring sparkle in his eye as Rowena began binding their hands together. It was symbolic of their souls, tied together forever — bound by blood and reaching far beyond “til death do us part.” Dean lost himself in those tempestuous eyes, and wondered if the feeling he was getting was just because he was so happy, or from the soulbond… or a mixture of both.

 

Mary and Sam had front row seats, ensured by Cas when he took Dean’s advice on escorting his mother down the aisle. When he returned to escort Sam, Dean had to quickly explain that it was more of a “gentleman to lady” thing than a “human to human” thing and that it was pretty exclusive to frilly things like church weddings. Proud of his newfound knowledge, Cas approached Charlie as soon as she walked back in and offered his arm.

 

She slid into the second row with Lisa, Pam, Jo, and Ash. Benny sat on Ash’s other side and quietly side-eyed the mullet, while Ash wondered what the deal was with the newsies hat. All harmless curiosity that would turn to playful banter at the roadhouse, doubtlessly. 

 

Chuck sat in the third row, feeding the whole thing via video chat to Marv. Dean still needed to bitch slap the guy for bringing a fucking Ouija board into the church, although he didn’t have much room to talk, since he was now soulbonding to the demon that came through. Like anyone else taking credit for a successful relationship, Chuck was subtly smug about it, saying nothing but looking between them like, “Yeah, I did that.” Jackass. Maybe he should be the one to pastor the church.

 

Honestly, it was none of Dean’s concern. His work was complete. With his mom and brother starting over, he could rest easy knowing that John could neither harm them nor control the lives of any within these whitewashed walls. Whatever happened in here after tonight, he wasn’t sticking around for it. 

 

Rowena tightened the knot, just enough to keep the rope from slipping around. It crossed and wrapped, each layer purposed and meticulously placed. Truly, a work of art. The rope was red, like blood, and fastened their hands like the immortal threads binding them together. Each pass around their hands represented another step towards this moment. As the symbolic fetter bound their hands, Rowena’s spellwork melded their souls.

 

It stirred deep and warm, like the cores of their beings were softened and merged. Even as specks in the scope of eternity, they could feel its complexity. It was massive, like the cosmos realigning for their union. Their paths were being remade into one, with eternity woven in. It was no wonder Rowena slept for two days after her first go at it, and the reason she didn’t recommend the ritual for beginners.

 

Incubus to human soul bonding didn’t include a vow exchange, as the spell ingredients and incantations did the talking for them. Before the ceremony began, she offered them the chance, anyway. Dean hadn’t given it much thought, but standing before the marvel that was Cas gave him an endless supply of things to say.

 

“Most of you don’t know Cas yet,” Dean began after Rowena paused from her spell. She took the opportunity to rest in a choir seat. “But you will soon. He’s… he changed my life. When we met…” They both smiled. “...I figured he’d teach me some things. Understatement of the century.”

 

A quick glance across the first few pews showed naive but enthusiastic smiles all around. 

 

“I’m not gonna tell you guys everything that entails, because we’d be here all night, and it’s already been a crazy day. We’ve been arrested, separated, I’ve been strapped to a shock chair, and that’s just from today. This past month, I’ve been hunted, threatened, harassed, and blackmailed. All because… I love him.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see his mom start to cry. Well, dammit. He was doing just fine, too.

 

“If it wasn’t for the support of you fine folks, I’m not sure how our story would have gone.” His voice strained to keep steady. “Something I’ve learned along the way… Faith is, uh,” he faltered, clearing his throat. “It’s not that faith is a stupid thing to have. What I’m saying is, the people that are deserving of that faith... might come from a place you don’t expect.”

 

An understanding smile curved across Cas’ cheek. For a split second, Dean almost jumped the gun to throw himself at his head, but he took a deep breath and squeezed the hands that laid bound in his.

 

“I love you, Castiel. I will love you,” he emphasized deliberately, “forever.”

 

Score. He got through it without crying. All downhill from there, right?

 

“And you, Dean,” Cas addressed him. He looked directly into Dean’s eyes, like he was the only other person in the room. “When you saw me for who I was, you could have turned the other way. You could have left me to the cruel hand of destiny.”

 

“Never,” Dean whispered while shaking his head lightly.

 

“Because of you, I am free. Because of you, I know love.”

 

And that did it. The lump in Dean’s throat rose into a thick sob, and the sting of tears washed over the back of his eyes. Holy shit. This was happening.

 

“Let the whole of creation see,” Cas concluded, “that such a bond exists, and it is ours. Despite the lives that were already chosen for us. Despite what we’ve done. And despite the fates designed to keep us apart.”

 

Dean took a deep inhale and smiled. His heart felt so full — how was it even possible to love someone this much? A tear was coming, but his hands were literally tied, so all he could do was let it roll. Rowena returned from her seat, placed her hands over theirs and completed the spell with the last invocation.

  
  


Sands of time

Shalt not release

From this bond

The souls of these

 

Sanctuary

Is the fate

Of former slave

Now a mate

 

Bound eternal

To lover’s soul

This man shall be;

Death shan’t control

 

And with this blood

I now decree

Soul bond complete

So mote it be

  
  


Rowena’s knife sliced through the rope. As it dropped in pieces into the mix of spell ingredients below, Cas wasted no time cupping Dean’s face in his hands. He thumbed away the stray tear and kissed him, any remnants of Dean’s shaking breath melting against Cas’ lips. Dean cradled Cas’ wrists, willing him to stay there, basking in the newness of their unity. He could stay there for hours, until every person in the room was sick of looking at them or Cas dragged him away from the public eye.

 

The small crowd clapped, gradually rising to their feet after Mary instigated the trend. Ash startled everyone with an obnoxious two finger whistle. Dean and Cas weren’t paying attention to them, but everyone in the room wore an honest to goodness smile; no feigned congratulations or pretentious phraseology. The couple’s joy was infectious, and it showed.

 

Taking Cas’ hand, Dean led him to the side so Rowena could gather her things without fear of getting stepped on. Dean took his first long look at his mate as a full-fledged mortal. He could have sworn Cas had an unquenchable glow about him — his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled with the newness of human life.

 

“How does it feel?” Dean asked quietly as the claps grew sparse.

 

Cas’ eyes moved around, like he was searching the air for adequate words. His chest lifted in a deep breath. “It feels like I belong, linked to you in this life, and you to me in the next. Like it fits.”

 

Damn, but that was some cute shit. Down the aisle they walked, hand in hand, followed shortly by those who stood witness. It was true, what Cas said. It did fit, because Cas was home now. And after every twist and turn they had endured, so was Dean.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Cas,” he entreated. “They won’t miss us for ten extra minutes.”

 

Mary had left them with the Impala after reminding him that she was technically the co-owner, as both hers and John’s names were on the title. Ever since the convoy began the long drive to Harvelle’s Roadhouse, Dean couldn’t keep his hands off Cas, and it was getting to be a problem. His hand started at Cas’ knee, slowly hiking up with every mile.

 

“In the car?” Cas questioned.

 

“You never pounced anyone while they were in their car?”

 

Cas wriggled as Dean’s fingers began exploring his inner thighs. “Well, yes I’ve… Dean… I have been assigned to humans in cars before, but that was when I could still teleport out as soon as —  _ Dean  _ — as soon as...”

 

Dean was cheesing so hard, he chuckled to himself. Cas had been sporting a boner for the past four miles, and knowing his wandering hand was to blame wasn’t making his own dick any smaller. They were in the thick of town, with a thousand places they could park to get each other off. The added bonus of mid-winter’s long nights added a thousand more.

 

He moved the seat back just a couple of inches — enough room for road head, but not so far that he couldn’t reach the gas pedal — and gave Cas  _ a look _ .

 

“Well?” Dean prodded, glancing down at the erection in his pants.

 

The provocative glint in Cas’ eyes did no favors for keeping Dean focused on the road, so he gripped onto the steering wheel, eyes forward, and steadied his breathing as Cas leaned over to unzip his jeans. Dean’s cock had no sooner bounced into the heated air before Cas was on him, starting off with small licks that teased more than satisfied.

 

“Cas, shit,” Dean hissed. “C’mon, man. You’re killing me, here.”

 

Cas paused to stroke Dean to full length, purposefully keeping his head low to speak so the puffs of air would tingle Dean’s wet skin. “You will take what I give, beloved, and not be, as you so eloquently say, ‘a whiny little bitch’.”

 

“You can’t use me on me. That’s not fair.”

 

Instead of answering, Cas slipped his mouth over Dean’s tip, spreading precome with his tongue and humming at the bitter taste. Slipping his hand into Dean’s pants to fondle his balls, he took in more of him and swallowed once his mouth was filled. Dean jolted at the sensation of Cas’ throat squeezing his head. He was helpless under Cas’ ministrations. Further and further down Cas worked: relax, swallow, repeat, until Dean’s whole cock was in his mouth, and then he began sucking.

 

“Holy —” The suction was both a relief and a surprise. Dean knew it was coming, he just didn’t know exactly when, and writhed at the feeling of being in a sudden vacuum.

 

Combined with Cas’ fingers dragging over his sac and pressing dangerously close to his perineum, it was the very definition of a quickie. His mouth was so hot and tight and perfect, and passing people in higher vehicles than theirs was bordering on exhibitionism. Everything about Cas sucking him off was a total turn on, and being forced to pay attention to traffic while in a moving car enhanced the thrill.

 

He kept one hand on the wheel while the other found Cas’ neck. “Hell yes, that’s it,” he said. “Still got it, don’t’cha babe? Turning human can’t stop you from taking cock like a champ, huh?”

 

Cas didn’t answer — at least, not with words. The sounds he made, however, were like a green light to Dean’s brain. Each wet suck and choked hum stimulated him more. Raw need jetted to his dick and pumped through his head. He quaked with it. Holding Cas’ neck down, he let out one last wanton groan, and released into the throat so flawlessly squeezing his cock.

 

Dean made a sharp turn into a big box store parking lot, not stopping until they were behind the building and in park. Leaning back against the seat, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply as Cas slipped off with one last lick. Mind still fuzzy from the high, Dean unbuckled and reached for Cas’ legs.

 

“Wait,” Cas said. “Not yet.”

 

“What do you mean, not yet? I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you ever since the limo ride.”

 

Cas gave a teasing smirk. “I want to make you wait.”

 

“No,” Dean whined. “Please? I’ve been waiting all day.”

 

“I know. I felt your desire while Rowena and I conducted a tracking spell.”

 

Dean felt a little proud of himself for projecting his sexy thoughts enough for Cas to hear him in his weakened state, until another thought swept over him. While Cas’ incubus mojo was powering down, his soul bond stuff was strengthening. If Dean could feel Cas’ pain while he was in the Pit...

 

“Cas, did you uh… Did you feel it when they electrocuted me?”

 

The air fell far too quiet as Cas glanced down. He took Dean’s hand. “Yes, my love.”

 

“Shit.” It was horrible enough to endure that kind of pain. But knowing Cas felt it along with him? “I’m so sorry, babe.”

 

“You misunderstand. That’s what I would have wanted.” Cas kept speaking as Dean’s chin dropped, lowering his eyes. “I delight in sharing in my mate’s tribulations. You must know this, Dean. I would never want you to experience pain alone. If I could take it all for you, I would. But I suppose sharing it with you is the next best thing.”

 

Although he wasn’t yet ready to meet Cas’ gaze, Dean’s half smile communicated a silent acceptance of his bond mate’s support. It definitely wasn’t the response he expected, and he secretly still felt bad, but maybe he shouldn’t. Cas wouldn’t lie about this; if he said he wanted to bear Dean’s burdens with him, he meant it, because he was just that wonderful.

 

“Besides,” Cas scooted closer to the driver’s seat and placed his hand on Dean’s chest. “If I didn’t have your phone, it would have taken mere hours for rival demons to cast me into the Pit. I would have been torn apart, never to rise again. Your response to torture was justified. So was every reaction to being taken there with no promise of our reunion. If I had been sent… to that camp… I would have lost hope, too.”

 

Dean could feel his heartbeat under Cas’ hand. When he finally looked up, it was to true blues that glossed over in the lamplight meagerly illuminating the building’s receiving dock. For all the time Dean spent during the ritual losing himself in those eyes, he wasn’t prepared for this. They spoke of agony — a muted version of the original, but agony, nevertheless — that tugged at Dean’s soul and demanded appeasement.

 

“I’m gonna make ‘em pay.”

 

“Was the mass orgy Rowena and I arranged not a sufficient retaliation?”

 

Dean blew a short laugh out of his nose. “I think I can squeeze a little more out of them. But not in the sexy way.”

 

“Your passion for justice is admirable. But I’m still making you wait to pleasure me until after we leave the roadhouse.”

 

Dean raised Cas’ hand, kissing his palm and setting it between them. “You’re really gettin’ it tonight, y’know that?”

 

Cas slid back to his seat and fiddled with the troublesome seatbelt. “With my ability to read sexual thoughts eradicated, you will need to enlighten me on just what you mean when the time comes. I look forward to it.”

 


	25. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean's eternity together begins among friends, surrounded by warmth and cheer. They are home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is it. I can't believe this is the last chapter! I don't even know what to say. I'm proud. I'm kinda sad. I'm excited about what's next. I am emoting all sorts of things!
> 
> Publishing this one chapter at a time has been amazing, high-key torturous, and probably one of the coolest things I've ever done. You guys have been the best readers EVER, for realsies. Your feedback along the way has been encouraging, supportive, constructive, and enlightening. I'm so thankful for every kudos and comment!
> 
> Some of you already know that I got a lot off my chest writing this. Some of it was not pleasant to write because it brought up old wounds. But overall, it was very healing and I'm glad I did it. I hope to bury some very toxic parts of my past within these pages, and let myself move on from the negativity and trauma that is still affecting me.
> 
> And those of you out there creating stuff for this fic... I'm beyond humbled. I'm totally blown away. Thinking of a story enough to spend time *outside* of your reading time to make something that reminds you of it is one of the highest forms of love you can give to a work. Every headcanon, art piece, playlist, etc., has a special place in my heart.
> 
> If you want to post something on Tumblr regarding The Offering, pleeeease tag me [@deans-jiggly-pudding](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/deans-jiggly-pudding) and use the tags #The Offering and/or #The Offering Fic
> 
> The wonderful [HaydenWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaydenWinchester/pseuds/HaydenWinchester) has created a PERFECT playlist for the Offering, so click [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-y2afvkOwws&list=PL2bsRlupwdar6U7p84K_htCf-uNARm_57) to listen via YouTube!
> 
> Special thanks to [CastielsCarma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma) for betaing this work. It was NOT a small job, that's for sure. Guys. If you're writer and you're on the fence on whether or not to have a beta, it's a sign that you absolutely should. If you need one, you'll know. The story will TELL YOU. I bit off a waaaay bigger piece than I could chew taking on this, and I truly believe a good beta is the difference between a good fic and a GREAT one. So, thank you CastielsCarma. You are awesome.
> 
> Thank you again to each and every one of you for your amazing support. You've made me feel heard. Accepted. Understood. By reading and interacting, you have empowered me. Now I'm going to do my part and go up to the shit I'm still dealing with and kick it in the ass. You guys have shown that you believe in me. So I'm gonna do it. We can do it together.
> 
> Let's kick it in the ass.

The reception at Harvelle’s Roadhouse was a mix of emotions, as Dean had anticipated. Although he mentioned John’s infidelity to Mary over the phone while in Rowena’s limousine, bringing it up in person was another ball game entirely. She was taking it as could be expected: with all the grace she could gather, but with deep-rooted hurt and the eyes of someone re-evaluating a large chunk of her life. She looked far away like she was reliving the family’s best memories, but this time with the knowledge of lies in the background.

 

Dean didn’t even know where to begin with his half-brother, Adam. He had always been nice to the kid, but he still felt the need to apologize as soon as he saw him sitting at a booth with Jake Talley. Sorry for what, exactly, Dean couldn’t say. Sorry you had to find out like that? Sorry I didn’t act like more of a brother, even though I had no reason to? Sorry, our dad is a dick?

 

Sam interrupted his thoughts by plopping down in the seat beside Cas. Dean sat up straighter, a brow cocking up, but Sam shot him a  _ chill out _ bitch face before turning in his seat toward Cas.

 

“Hey Cas,” Sam said. “Sorry I was rude back there at the church. Can we… start over?”

 

“I would like that.” Cas relaxed in his chair. “Your brotherly concern is laudable, in fact.”

 

Sam was caught off-guard by the compliment but tried to plow through it to say what he came by to say. “Oh, uh… Um, It’s just, uh… I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you guys. And Dean, I want you to use your Christmas present.”

 

“Yeah, about that,” Dean began.

 

Sam held up his palms. “No questions, remember?”

 

“You don’t think I have questions about this?”

 

Cas’ brows creased, a question for clarification on the tip of his tongue, but Sam just laughed. “You’re welcome.”

 

“No,” Dean insisted, pulling out his wallet. He smacked the worn envelope onto the table. “Why on earth do you have this? Do you know how much trouble you could get into?”

 

“When has that ever stopped you?”

 

“That’s different. I’m the oldest, I get to do stupid shit like that.”

 

“So do it,” Sam retorted with a shrug. “Use the credit card.”

 

Dean glared at him. “You’re a credit card scammer now?”

 

Sam gave a quick nod. Damn kid and his secrets. Who would’ve thought?

 

“Since when?”

 

“Please, Dean. Just… don’t ask, alright? And no, Jessica didn’t teach me. Engineering is her specialty and hacking into accounts happens to be mine.”

 

Dean held the envelope clothespinned between two hands, like he was afraid to touch it too much. Like leaving his fingerprints on it would get him arrested on the spot. “You better be covering your tracks.”

 

“I am.”

 

“If Mom finds out… No, scratch that. If the cops find out…”

 

“Okay Dean, I get it. But I meant it when I said to use it when you need it. This,” he paused to look at Dean and Cas, “qualifies as needing it. Use it. Go somewhere cool. And then come home and live somewhere that doesn’t have communal showers.”

 

Dean dragged his lip through his teeth while pulling out the brand spanking new credit card. Why he was letting Sam’s shenanigans surprise him anymore, he had no idea. The kid could hold his own, that much he had already proven.

 

“I’ll use it,” Dean finally acceded. “And once Cas and I are back, I’m gonna come visit you and Mom, and you and I are gonna do lame brother stuff to make up for lost time.”

 

Sam beamed. “Cool.” With that, he got up and returned to his seat across from his mom. Jessica was sitting with them, motioning with her hands and spieling over quantum mechanics, probably. Jo dropped drinks off at their table before making her rounds to Dean and Cas.

 

“So,” she asked Dean as she set down two glasses of iced tea. “Where to from here?”

 

That was the question, indeed. Dean let out a long exhale, trying to figure out the best way to say  _ I have no fucking clue.  _ They had a bed and a place to go with running water; he’d say they were doing alright. And now, Dean could give Cas more. 

 

Cas deserved a five-star hotel with room service and rose petals on the bed, a house with wifi and a fluffy couch, and a fridge full of food and a stove on which Dean could make him breakfast. Cas deserved comfort, not just survival. With Dean’s business ownership and maybe a little help from Sam’s gift, that dream could now be a reality.

 

“Good question,” Dean said, taking the glass and raising it to his lips. Apartments in Lawrence might have some immediate availability, but he wasn’t going to bank on it. He didn’t even want to know the complications of buying a house with no established credit. Across the table, Cas watched him carefully, attempting to mimic Dean’s movements while slowly missing his mouth and pouring tea over the front of his shirt.

 

“I’ll get you a straw, Cas,” Jo offered, an amused smile creeping across her face.

 

Dean blotted his napkin against Cas’ shirt. Watching him adjust to the human condition was endearing, and he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Not when Cas was doing his very best. He was just too damn cute.

 

“Hey Dean, hey Cas,” Lisa greeted as she slipped into the chair beside Dean. “Congrats, by the way.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean replied, inspecting how soaked his napkin was before balling it up and turning towards her. “How’s that car treating you?”

 

“Fine, thanks to you.” She pulled a fat envelope out of her front skirt pocket and dropped it in front of him. “I told you I’d pay you back for that bail money.”

 

“Lisa,” he sighed.

 

She shrugged. “It was my choice.”

 

“You didn’t have to.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

Dean nodded at the deliberately chosen statement. Now that she was no longer under the scrutiny of the church, she had one less stressor dictating her life, and it showed. She looked undaunted, at peace. She could make a clearer decision on what she wanted, and right now, she wanted to keep working. 

 

Knowing that settled something very old inside of him. He could relax about it. Unlike Cas, she had a choice in the matter. She wasn’t in distress; she didn’t need saving; she had that shit handled. 

 

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Carry a knife or something.”

 

Smiling, she pulled a four-inch tactical knife out of her back pocket. “Got it yesterday.”

 

“That’s my girl.”

 

Lisa flipped it open, thumbing over the blade carefully. Her smile faded as she examined it. “I’ll never be helpless again.”

 

Dean’s own smile fell. Arms crossed, he glanced over at Cas, who raised a brow. “You don’t need to worry about that one guy anymore.”

 

Lisa folded the knife back over and put it back. “Why do you say that?”

 

Dean swallowed. “Because he’s dead. I watched him die.” A soft look of realization swept over Cas. 

 

With a shaky inhale, Lisa shifted around in her seat. After a moment she finally breathed out — a relieved, cleansing exhale that resolved something old and haunting in her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness.”

 

“Yep,” Dean agreed, leaving it at that. When it came to this subject, the fewer details, the better. He picked up the envelope and motioned to her with it. “Thank you.”

 

“Uh huh,” she answered, not forcing a smile as she left, but visibly at ease.

 

Jo dropped the straw off, which Dean unwrapped and stuck in Cas’ drink. Catching onto the concept, Cas took a long sip, during which he looked at Dean with a face brimming with understanding. Dropping the straw from his mouth, he smacked his mouth at the sweetness of the tea and licked his bottom lip.

 

Both were content to leave any further details concerning Cas’ last shift unspoken. It was behind them, with many better things ahead. Starting with personally introducing Cas to the rest of his friends, and ending never.

 

Benny gave bear hugs and told them congratulations, and Dean knew that he meant it. Ellen hurried over as soon as the roadhouse got a lull in traffic. Marv showed up. It was like a weird combination of a party and family reunion: pleasant and mostly appropriate, with a surprise plus-one strolling in every once in a while.

 

This was the childhood hometown Dean could wander freely once more. And these were the people he was sharing it with.

 

* * *

 

“What happened to you making me wait until we left the roadhouse?”

 

Cas’ tousled hair and pink cheeks were answer enough, but his breathy groan and arch into Dean’s palm told the rest of the story. “You’re a brat if I ever met one.”

 

He was too distracted by Cas’ dick enlarging under his frotting strokes to confirm or deny such an accusation. Were the circumstances different and Dean wasn’t consumed with the thought of making his bondmate come in his pants before their guests realized they were missing, he might’ve said something snarky. This alone, he knew: he was getting his way and both of them were okay with it.

 

It started an hour after Jo had dropped off their drinks. Everyone had taken their chance to converse with the happy couple, Ash was shooting whiskey, and each tableful of people had fallen into a comfortable conversation when Cas abruptly stood up.

 

If it wasn’t for the look of discomfort on his face, Dean would have assumed he was going to pull off some wedding toast shit. But instinctively, he knew. The tea had gone right through him too, and maybe it was the bond talking, but Dean immediately followed Cas up and led him to the men’s restroom.

 

“What is it?” Cas asked, full of concern and grappling at his pants as Dean locked the stall door behind them.

 

The human condition was turning up with new experiences all over the place, and this was no different. The poor guy had never peed before. Dean told him to drop his pants, needing to take a leak himself but far more accustomed to holding it in than the ex-incubus. It was a quick lesson, but a successful one. After they had both taken their turns, they washed their hands.

 

Dean left a small peck on Cas’ throat before turning to throw his paper towel away, so he didn’t expect to feel a pair of lips at the back of his neck a second later. The heat rushing to his groin should have been a dead giveaway that this bathroom visit was going to develop into more, but he was still holding onto Cas’ command to wait.

 

That lasted until he circled around to smack Cas on the ass. The impact was relatively tame but popped loudly in the echoey public restroom, drawing both of their attention to the palpable unspoken tension between them. Their eyes met, acutely looking into each other as if searching for the permission to break.

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed at Cas’ intense glare. It was turning far too long and silent for comfort. “So is impact play off the table, or…?”

 

Before he could finish, Cas took two long strides and pushed Dean against the wall, pinning him there chest to chest, nose to nose. They could feel each other’s breath, the heat between their bodies. The blaze of lust kindling with every passing second. Dean forgot exactly what he was joking about when Cas made a deliberate hip roll against his pelvis, starting up a friction that could only go in the direction they both wordlessly wanted.

 

When Cas responded to his low moan with another thrust upward, Dean reached for Cas’ hair and pulled back, exposing his neck. The temptation was too much, and Dean licked at the base before latching on with a suck with promise of a bruise. Fuck it. Cas could pull his collar up if he wanted. He was all his for just under two hours and Dean couldn’t stop the yearning in his soul to show it, tell the world, mark him up. It was the most primal he had ever felt, and he kinda liked it. A lot.

 

Now here they were, with Dean pressed against a cold bathroom wall, with his palm cupped against Cas’ engorged dick. The man humping his hand had no idea how beautiful he was with his closed eyes and heavy breaths, focusing on nothing but the feeling of being touched. He was a brand new human, right out of the box, and if he was getting off on this, Dean couldn’t wait for some skin-on-skin.

 

Maybe he was a brat for provoking him, or maybe he was just instigating what they both wanted anyway. Either way, it was too late now; Cas was hard and gaining speed and very, very horny.

 

“What are you gonna do, bite me?”

 

Cas flashed a smile, eyelids lazily rising and falling again as he thrust manically into Dean’s hand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“No more venom, hotshot.”

 

“I have other ways of holding you still.”   
  


In a split second, Dean was being hefted up against the wall  _ by his wrists  _ with Cas holding him just high enough that his toes barely grazed the floor. Dean watched helplessly as Cas’ muscular arms suspended him, and gasped as he began grinding their hips together. Dean had been too zeroed in on Cas’ pleasure to notice his own erection... until now.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean said in surprise once he came to himself enough to realize he was being suspended against the wall by his hands. He couldn’t move if he wanted. He was as defenseless as a sex toy, open and usable until Cas let him back down to solid ground.

 

Cas rubbed their dicks together, the hunger between them growing higher and higher with every thrust until they were both grunting, gasping, barely holding back the louder noises rumbling in their throats. He gripped Dean’s wrists tighter. He was close. 

 

“You gonna come for me, Cas?” Dean asked, noting the urgency in Cas’ handling.

 

His breaths quickened. “Are you?”   
  


“Go on baby, I’m right behind you.”

 

That was all the prompting Cas needed. With a breathy moan, he slammed their lower bodies together, squeezing their throbbing, needy dicks impossibly close. Between layers of clothes, Dean could feel Cas’ cock pulsing, releasing into his pants, and it was all he needed to spark his own orgasm.

 

He let out a long moan as he came, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the cold wall. Cas’ hold on him loosened, and he managed to slide to his feet without toppling over from post-orgasm Jello legs.

 

They silently wiped the spunk out of their underwear, smiles breaking between them as they realized they had to make their way back to the table without looking like they just got each other off in the bathroom. Cas’ love bite peeped out from under his collar, but he made no moves to cover it once he spotted it in the mirror. 

 

Dean poked his head out of the restroom, only to spot a laminated sheet of copy paper suctioned to the door. It read, “closed for housekeeping”. Looking up with a smirk, he spotted Ash across the dining room, twirling a janitor closet key on a keychain and mouthing “You’re welcome” with a wink.

 

* * *

 

**TWO WEEKS LATER...**

 

“Dean, is this…?”

 

“Exactly like you remember, but real this time.”

 

The cabin was already booked for the dates immediately following the blood ritual, but Dean snatched up six days of availability two weeks out. The awe on Cas’ face when they rolled up was priceless. The cabin was tall and daunting at the top of the mountain, exactly how it was in the online pictures… and the fantasy Dean created all those months ago. Cas’ eyes were fixed on the porch hot tub, where their fun had begun in Dean’s mind.

 

Cas smiled so big, the corners of his eyes wrinkled. Dean melted at the lines and curves on Cas’ face that would become more prominent as they grew old together. He was gone on this man, this new human, and now he could be disgustingly romantic and whisk him off to spoil him six ways from Sunday. 

 

The largest chunk of their honeymoon came courtesy of Lisa reimbursing him for bail, with the rest put on the credit card, courtesy of Sam. The apartment complex a mile away from the auto shop, as it turned out, had a cancellation for a one bedroom unit, which Dean snatched up faster than greased lightning. That was the home waiting for them, after the next six days of much-needed private celebration.

 

“It’s perfect,” said Cas. “It will be even better now, in real life.”

 

“Damn right,” Dean agreed, stopping at the back of the car to take out their luggage. Cas met him at the trunk, tugging at Dean’s green canvas jacket for a kiss. The air was cold, but Cas’ lips were warm, and Dean held him close. He told himself it was to conserve heat, but he really just wanted to feel Cas on him. For the entire long drive, Dean thought about what he wanted them to do, enjoying being able to plan it out without an incubus reading his mind.

 

Cas managed to pull his face away long enough to get a word in edgewise. “I’m freezing. Let’s get inside.”

 

Dean stole another smack on the lips and glanced up at the hot tub. “I think I might have a solution for that.”

 

* * *

 

Ever since the ritual, Cas found human clothes to be slightly less terrible. Although he still slept in the nude, he fell into the habit of putting something on before wandering around, whether it be sweat pants or a pair of boxers. Instead of itching and constricting, his human body found them comforting. Seeing Dean smile at his bedhead and embracing human customs didn’t hurt, either.

 

Sleepy-eyed and sore from their long,  _ long  _ night of lovemaking, Cas pitter-pattered into the cabin kitchen, where Dean was facing the stove over a pan of scrambled eggs.

 

“Just got a call. The law firm I contacted is taking the case,” Dean announced to his audience of one. “Using that shock chair outside of its ‘intended purpose’ that I ‘consented’ to is grounds for a settlement. Yee haw, fuckers.”

 

“When you said you were going to make them pay, I didn’t know you meant literally.”

 

“Sweetheart, you’ll find that the human world is a little different in regards to righting wrongs and settling scores. In this realm, money talks.”

 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed, coming up behind Dean to hold him as he stirred the eggs. They were wearing each other’s clothes — Dean in the sweatpants he bought when Cas was still an incubus, and Cas in a pair of Dean’s basketball shorts. Cas’ arms locked around Dean’s waist as he pressed his lips to his bare shoulder.

 

“Hungry?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Cas slipped the tip of his finger into the front of Dean’s pants, a playful smirk on his face that Dean couldn’t see, but could definitely hear from his tone.

 

Dean squirmed at the tickle at his underbelly. “Hey you, I meant the eggs.”

 

“Eggs later.”

 

“Oh, I gotcha. You want the sausage now.”

 

Cas guffawed at the horrible joke, laying his forehead on Dean’s back and reaching further into his pants. “I suppose that’s one way to say it.”

 

Surrendering himself to Cas’ fingers stroking him, Dean gave a closed-mouth groan and arched his ass against the welcomed hardness between his cheeks. “How would you say it, Castiel?”

 

Raising his head, Cas stood up straighter to tease Dean’s ear with his nose. He took his hands out of Dean’s pants, instead utilizing all ten fingers to trace Dean’s side, stomach, and chest. Dean shuddered at the feeling of Cas’ breath on his earlobe, which only prodded him more. He squeezed Dean’s hips and pinched his nipples, before finally divulging his desire in a barely audible whisper.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

Biting his lip with a huff of defeat, Dean snapped the stove to “off” and dropped the spatula across the pan. “Dammit,” he grumbled, turning around to face Cas with pupils already wide with arousal and his dick straining the sweatpants. Apparently, getting it up in a hurry wasn’t an incubus thing. He was just really fucking hot for Cas.

 

In one swift motion, Dean swept Cas off the floor by his thighs and set him on the counter. Working out came in handy, after all. Cas responded by tugging at him with his arms and legs. It was hard to pull Cas’ pants down with his ankles crossed behind Dean’s back, and being this turned on only further diminished his fine motor skills. As his motions grew less coordinated, the wildfire between them grew.

 

It was only when Cas started laughing at him that Dean realized he was making this hard for him on purpose. Backing away enough to uncross Cas’ ankles by force, Dean yanked the pants the rest of the way off and glared at the troublemaker. There he sat, naked and smug on the counter, with his legs spread around Dean and an exposed hole that desperately needed fucking.

 

“I hope you fingered yourself because I’m not lubing you up.”

 

Cas’ mischievous demeanor dissolved, a lewd twinkle behind his eyes as he reached between his legs to pump two fingers in and out of himself with slick ease. He rumbled a pornographic groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back — fucking showoff. Dean’s jaw slacked at the sight — seeing Cas so horny and needy for him, cock arched against his stomach as he fucked himself with his fingers.

 

Being told to fuck his boyfriend was hot enough, but the cocky bastard planned this whole thing before he even left their bedroom. He knew exactly what he was doing, putting himself on display, making Dean watch the glistening lube ooze out of his hole. He stepped out of his pants and dragged Cas’ ass to the edge of the counter. Cas held onto him and lifted himself so Dean could get the angle right. Letting out a long groan, Dean buried himself inside Cas, thanking every lucky star that ever was, that this ass was his… forever.

 

“Being this close to you,” Cas graveled, nose to nose with Dean. “Having a part of you inside of me… It reminds me of our blood ritual. The moment the spell bound us. Do you remember?”

 

“Yeah, Cas, ‘course I do,” Dean said as he began thrusting up. His hips had to do all the work, pistoning in and out of Cas, but it was worth it to see him fall apart before his eyes. “It was like, two weeks ago.”

 

“The fabric of our souls are intertwined.”

 

Dean couldn’t stop staring at Cas when he was enjoying himself. He was beautiful like this — so lost in the moment, without a single care — fearless of being on the receiving end of sex. Unfettered and human and  _ free _ . 

 

“We are one,” Cas rasped, voice weakening as Dean’s thrusts deepened. “And when we are like this, our bodies are one. You are a part of me. And I, you.”

 

“Fuck,” Dean murmured. Why’d his man have to be so damn smooth all the time? He was still mastering a fork and knife, but when he opened his mouth, it was either with florid eloquence or such filth that could make a phone sex operator blush.

 

“I thought about it before I came into the kitchen. While I was preparing myself for you. Thinking about our bondship always does it to me. Makes me want to do this. Makes me want to come.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Dean said between labored thrusts. “You gotta hold off until at least one of us is screaming.”

 

Cas’ eyes were closed, mouth dropped open and brows creased. His breaths were shallow, following the pace at which Dean fucked him. “It — will — be… you.”

 

Chuckling, Dean sped up each plunge into Cas’ ass. “You sure about that?”

 

Truthfully, Dean was practically jumping for joy at the thought of the tables turning. He knew full well he was pressing Cas’ buttons. Getting him all riled up and rough was his favorite thing, and he was pretty sure Cas knew it, but neither were about to admit to it.

 

“I don’t know,” Cas hissed. “Why don’t you ask me once my cock is up your ass?”

 

He scooted back on the counter, causing Dean to slip out of him on the next pull. Grabbing his wrist, Cas stepped down and led the way to the bedroom. He had Dean where he wanted him at last. Pulling him to his face, Cas kissed him harshly before backing him up against the king size bed. Ending the kiss as Dean came up for air, Cas pushed him onto his back with a bounce before dropping to the floor to rummage through their luggage. 

 

Cas couldn’t see Dean grinning from his crouched position near their suitcases. They were just here, hours before, and the couch shortly before that. And the hot tub, shortly before that. The memories were fresh, and Dean enjoyed remembering so much, it took a second to register that Cas wasn’t on him yet.

 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Dean asked, sitting up.

 

“It’s a surprise.”

 

“Is it… a sexy surprise?”

 

“I hope you think so.” 

 

Dean’s eyes widened when Cas found the item and placed it on the bed. It was their handfasting rope. Rowena had cut it down the middle after the spell, splitting it into multiple pieces. Cas had painstakingly re-knotted each strand and secretly packed it for this occasion. Dean swooned a little. Not only was that sexy, that was super fucking romantic.

 

“I thought it would be nice, although we can’t technically call this a honeymoon since the ritual wasn’t technically a wed—”

 

“Yes,” Dean interrupted, presenting his wrists eagerly. “Hell yes, I am so in.”

 

Cas crawled onto the bed, that deep-thinking, hungry smile returning as he took the rope in hand and knee-walked toward Dean. “Lie down. On your back.”

 

Dean complied, that stubborn, stupid smile refusing to leave, and watched Cas pin his hands above his head and get to tying. It took a minute, with all the confusing knots and frayed ends, but he finally got him tied to the headboard frame. Dean didn’t want to accidentally tear the beautifully re-tied rope, so he gave only a light tug as Cas backed up to admire his work.

 

“You look perfect,” Cas reflected, eyes raking over Dean hungrily. His beloved tied to the bed in their handfasting rope, laid out just for him — it invoked a pleased groan and lips that wandered across Dean’s ribs and hips. “My human, all mine.”

 

Dean didn’t usually whimper in reckless abandon, but Cas’ touch was electric and he couldn’t touch him back. His arms shook, breath hitching in his throat as Cas sucked on the skin joining his hip and leg. It was thin, sensitive, and definitely leaving a mark. Precome beaded at his cockhead as he pictured half a dozen red love bites on his inner thighs by the time Cas was done with him.

 

“Say it,” Cas prodded before suctioning on a patch of skin right below the first mark.

 

A chill ran down Dean’s spine. Cas’ voice was so deep, so possessive. Like a wave crashing onto the shore, dragging sand and shells back to it. He yelped in surprise as Cas sucked harder on his third spot.

 

“Y-yours,” Dean sputtered. “Fuck, f-fuck, I’m yours, Cas.” His eyes rolled back as Cas tenderly licked the spot he just bruised. “Cas, please, just… fuck.” He couldn’t beg. He wouldn’t. Nope. He was above that. He was past that; Cas liked it too much. No, sir. After giving into it so many times, he wasn’t about to — 

 

The lube bottle cap snapped open.

 

“Oh god, Cas please.” He dragged his body as low as he could, hoping to feel a wet finger where he needed it the most. “I need you to touch me, I need… Shit… I can’t do shit in these ropes, man.”

 

Cas loomed over him, slinging one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder to drag a lubed thumb over Dean’s hole. “I wish you could see yourself.”

 

Dean keened at the long-anticipated feeling of something touching his rim. Dammit, it wasn’t even a sexy sound, either. Not that he had the capacity to care. 

 

“You will come while bound in these very ropes that bind our souls.”

 

“Fuck, yes.” Dean bit down as the wet pad of Cas’ finger slipped into him. As hard as he was, he felt like melted butter in Cas’ hands. Relaxing into the touch was easy. He was helpless, all tied up and at Cas’ mercy. Without the use of his hands, he didn’t even have to worry about reciprocating — this was all Cas. He ran this show. It took away Dean’s control, and it was oddly comforting.

 

Cas worked him over with one finger, hunger building in Dean’s gut as his short thrusts quickened. He could come like this. Just one finger. He squirmed around on the mattress, hoping to graze Cas’ finger over the bundle of nerves screaming to be touched.

 

“No,” he ordered, pausing his finger. 

 

Dean stiffened, his desire burning too hot to be anything but pliant for Cas. A second finger accompanied the first, along with more lube. Dean breathed deeply and relaxed, enjoying the way they slid together so easily. After getting fucked in the ass at his rate, he had learned how to let go of the nervous anticipation. Having an incubus do it had spoiled him for a time, but he was back in the swing of it.

 

Cas knew it, of course. He was making a show out of teasing Dean to the point of insanity.

 

Dean clenched his fists to focus on not moving downward, not taking anything he wasn’t given. He closed his eyes, the sounds of Cas’ fingers moving in and out of him intensified. In and out, in and out. Yep, he was going crazy.

 

“Cas.”

 

“Hush, my love.”

 

Dean huffed a small whine but opened his eyes again when Cas removed his fingers. He looked down to see Cas slinging his other leg over his shoulder, sinking down until his cockhead breached Dean’s ass. He threw his head back and laughed in delight at the feeling of that gorgeous cock stretching him wide open.

 

“Yes,” he cried out. Oh, how he loved not having apartment neighbors for six days. Noise complaints were such a buzzkill. “Fuck yeah, fuck… yes, Cas!”

 

Cas sank deeper, carefully watching Dean’s face of total surrender. With every inch he took, he was just a little more gone, more wasted on Cas’ cock, sentences shattering into garbled swears and repeats of Cas’ name. By the time he was balls deep, Dean was a writhing mess, a tear streaking down the corner of his eye and voice shaking with need.

 

Any other day, Cas would be whispering a litany of comforting praises and thumbing circles lightly on his skin. But today, Dean wanted one of them to be screaming. 

 

Moving back, Cas listened for Dean to start begging to be filled again. He pulled out excruciatingly slow, marking the exact moment Dean broke. The point of emptiness at which he mourned the loss.

 

“Please,” Dean implored. His shoulders rolled, like he was stretching, or perhaps the closest thing he had to talking with his hands. “Go, please, do it, fuck me, I need —”

 

_ Slam. _

 

“Fuck!” came the first scream. 

 

Cas grinned as he fucked him long and deep, not quite as fast as Dean liked — just enough to keep him at the edge. Grabbing a pillow, he lifted Dean’s hips and slipped the pillow under him. On his next pass, he teased along Dean’s prostate, purposed to hit it just a little harder each time. Slowly kindling the fire, reminding him of what he really wanted.

 

“Fuck… C’mon, Cas! Harder, faster,” Dean pleaded. “I need you to go faster!”

 

“Looks like one of us is screaming.”

 

Cas might have taken Dean’s dirty look more seriously if he wasn’t tied to the headboard. As it was, he was as intimidating as a human sacrifice bound to the altar in times of old. Stretched out just for him, a waiting sacrifice to his lust. His human, bound to him eternally, like the mate he was.

 

Further aroused by the visual, Cas groaned behind closed lips. His eyes dilated, consuming all but a sliver of blue with inky black. The muscles of Dean’s ass pulsed around him, shrouding him in tight hotness, slicked just right with lube. He squeezed Cas perfectly, bringing him closer to climax with every fuck. Now they were both panting, groaning, sweating as their respective ends grew near, all banter melting away, replaced with the rough touches and unrestrained noises of ecstasy. 

 

“Cas, can I…?” Dean said with barely any tone. “Please, can I come?”

 

Satisfied that his mate was learning his place, he lunged deeper and held Dean tighter. “Now, Dean.”

 

The sound that left Dean was more of a crying sob, but in this context, the meaning was clear: Grateful for permission; release at last. He had held off, all this time, just for his mate. He had accomplished that, and he was rewarded with possibly the most powerful orgasm of his life. His ass throbbed around Cas and it felt _ so damn good _ to be claimed and filled from the inside as his mate emptied himself into his sore, red hole.

 

Above, Cas hummed contentedly as his spend pumped into Dean and leaked into a sticky mess onto the bed. Those sounds were softer than that of Dean’s, but not lost. Together their notes of rapture harmonized into the perfect song of all-conquering love. Together, after every shortcoming and personal sin, they were worthy of each other. Together, they would create their own heaven.

 

Lube and sweat and come mixed inside of Dean, smoothing the way for the dick that efficiently wrecked his ass. Cas removed himself slowly, relishing the way Dean’s muscles reflexively tried to pull him back in, and how his cockhead caught at the lip of his rim on the way out. Being human was indisputably incredible. He was leaving part of himself inside of his lover, like a mark; a brand that he could reapply over and over, for eternity.

 

Dean’s weakened legs collapsed onto the bed as soon as Cas released them. For a moment, Cas remained kneeling, admiring every hickey, tear track, and smear of come peppered across Dean’s body, leading all the way to his bound hands. He loosened the ropes and gently massaged the indentations in Dean’s wrists all his unconscious tugging had caused.

 

When he was finally free and regaining feeling in his fingers, Dean turned on his side, snuggling backward until his back met Cas’ chest. After intense times like this, he liked to be the little spoon — to be held, protected, cherished. If he was being honest, he always liked it… needed it, even. He was reminded of that in times like this.

 

After years of being the “responsible” one, the example by default, the one living in a fishbowl, he could let go. He could quit it with the big talk and tough guy persona. After years of guarding himself 100% of the time, it was a welcomed exchange of power. It was a hard habit to break, of course, but Cas was becoming increasingly skilled at bringing him to a place of surrender.

 

Trusting was such a hard thing to do, after so much bad had happened. It never did come easily to him, and watching his world fall apart did his trust issues no favors. His childhood school had dissolved. Two-thirds of lifelong acquaintances left without as much as a goodbye. He had been broken apart and left to pick up the pieces. 

 

But he wasn’t alone. He might have been the only one excommunicated, shamed, and hunted, but by the end, he knew who stood by his side. They truly were tried by fire, but not of the holy sort. Every one of them had earned their place of trust in his heart, and at the center, there was Cas.

 

Castiel, who rose above his own instincts to be more than his destiny allowed. Castiel, who never stopped fighting for him. Castiel, the incubus, now a human — safe, happy, and just as spectacular at eating ass as always. Dean just might like him even more now, in fact. After all, he didn’t fall in love with the skin an incubus came in any more than the incubus fell in love with a sexual offering. They were so much more than that. They were two souls, their atoms pulling together from the dawn of time, meant to be, and perfectly  _ right  _ as bonded mates. As if the universe had called for it from the beginning.

 

Their handfasting rope laid strewn along the edge of the bed. Smiling to himself, Dean blinked it out of focus before the heavy lull of sleep tugged at his eyelids. He could not be any happier. Arching against Cas, he began ebbing in and out of sleep as his mate enfolded them in the fluffy comforter and wrapped his arms around him.

 

They had made it. Through life, through hell, and every trial and tribulation, they had created their own eternal bliss. Just two bonded souls with nothing between.

 

This. This was heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
